


Now we lost our way

by esama



Series: (Don't) Fade Away [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, inFAMOUS (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amputation, Blackmail, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Murder, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: If good intentions pave the road to hell, can you build a stairway to heaven with bad ones?
Relationships: Kessler (inFAMOUS) & Desmond Miles
Series: (Don't) Fade Away [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048618
Comments: 144
Kudos: 593





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed
> 
> This will have ambiguously open ending which is supposed to be concluded in part 3 of the series, but the part 3 might never be written so, if you're expecting a happy ending... you might want to give this one a miss.

Desmond. As the chance of you waking up anytime soon is starting to look less and less likely, I am making these recordings in order to inform you of the things that have occurred since your… event.

The solar flare occurred as you predicted it – as you _foresaw_ – and it was dealt with as you said it would be. On 21st of December, 2012, a global Aurora Borealis took over the skies world over, never mind the time of day, and a cosmic event that should by all rights killed majority of the life on our fair planet… didn't.

The data recorded on the event was quickly covered up by various government agencies, and the loss of several satellites was brushed under the rug, but I got my hands on a sample of the raw data – the force of the flare, and it's mysterious disappearance included. Though it's far from my area of expertise, I surmised from the reports that the force of the flare with its various harmful aspects seemed to simply… evaporate as it hit the atmosphere.

I missed most of this – though I saw the initial activation on ground, the end of it I sadly had to disregard it over the more important task of collecting your remains. I knew that if I didn't hurry, Abstergo would beat me to the punch – they were already on the way, with a DNA extraction team at the ready. I suspect they were monitoring you all this time, waiting – letting you do their dirty work with the First Civilisation's technology, seeing as you were well on your way of doing what they couldn't. It's curious, really, that they didn't try and claim credit along with your body.

Of course, they did not get your body. I tracked your location the moment you made the call, and as the solar flare hit, I teleported to you. I admit it took me a moment to realise to look for you underground, and by the time I reached you, the flare was over and so was whatever happened in that cave of yours. The technology down there was dead, fried by the event. And so were you.

But not dead.

I don't know whether you figured it out in the end, or if the temple was never meant to instantly kill you – either way, you still had a pulse, irregular and weak, but still beating. And so, I brought you with me to Empire City where I could get you the care you deserved and sorely needed. You have suffered a massive shock that is reminiscent of electric shock, and your right arm was severely burned, to an unrecoverable extent. I fear it might need to be amputated and soon. And obviously you have been in a coma ever since.

Less than four hours after the event, I got the confirmation that whatever you did in that Grand Temple worked. A young, passionate woman within the First Order has developed a… condition that I can only call the first sign of activation of the Conduit gene. Sasha is her name, and she is… extruding a toxin of sorts, biological in origins but unlike any human based substance I have seen before.

So, I daresay switch has been flipped now. Thank you, Desmond. My work can now continue in earnest.

As to what comes to your fellow Assassins… I do not know. They wasted little time fleeing the scene, I'm afraid – the activation of the temple did rather give away it's location, and I suppose they knew Abstergo was on the way. Thus, they missed me slipping in through the cracks. I will make a token attempt of tracking your fellow Assassins down, but ultimately I don't truly care. Still, you might, so, I will make a slight effort.

In the meantime, you will receive the best care the First Sons can provide, until you wake up.

Sweet dreams.

* * *

It has been a week now, and there has been no chance. Well, your vitals have stabilised and as far as your body goes you are in… relatively tip top shape. Your right arm was amputated five days ago and your recovery has been… disappointing, I'm sorry to say. A Conduit would have already healed and we could have fitted you with a prosthetic replacement reminiscent of my own… but your healing speed adheres to that of a regular human.

It is too soon to make assumptions, but considering the long coma and the slow healing, I am starting to have doubts about your gene's activation. I have thoroughly examined your genetics, of course, and you clearly have the Conduit Gene, still a very strong expression… but if it is active, there is no sign of it.

Sasha is showing some growth in her abilities – she can extrude her toxin at will, now. I fear it is getting to her – giving her a highly increased sense of self importance and confidence which is starting to border on toxic itself. It is certainly putting a fire in the order, however, as more of our members attempt to reach activation.

Hmm. I didn't tell you much of the First Sons, did I? No, I don't believe I did, it was hardly important. You know of course that they began as an offshoot of Templars, pursuing more esoteric subjects as compared to world control through ancient technology. Their past, though varied and fantastical, is hardly of interest to me – what I made them into, now that matters.

What began as a cluster of families with delusions of psychic grandeur, few of them possessing the Conduit gene, now mostly consists of my recruits. Of course, I have been running the First Sons now longer than most of its members have been alive – very few of the original members remain, and none of the families. Too many ties, too many _connections_ to maintain a proper structure of command, you see. All the recruits are approved by me. All of them have the gene.

When the time comes, I will have them within the Ray Sphere blast radius. They will not receive the… oomph as the one at the very centre of the activation, he will gain the lion share of the power as intended. But being on the fringes of the explosion should be enough to activate inactive Conduits. And if not, then… there is another way to turn an inactive gene into useful talent. Perhaps I will tell you about it later. Perhaps.

I am sorry about the arm. We did try to save it, but your bones… well. You are likely better off not knowing. Perhaps you will wake up in time to offer your opinion on the look of your new replacement. For now, we are going with everyday practicality but, should it interest you… I have had a prosthetic for most of my life and I have come up with a number of upgrades for it.

We will talk about it when you wake up.

Sweet dreams, now.

* * *

It is January 28th now, so it has been well over a month. You are still, clearly, in a coma. The arm has healed, finally – there was a touch of infection there, but it was dealt with. The fitting of the replacement happened yesterday. I know it's likely going to be jarring, to wake up with it, but take solace in the fact that this way you will avoid the pain of integration. Well, your body still clearly feels it, but you won't know of it. It's a gift I wouldn't have minded myself, when I got my first prosthetic. It wasn't neurally attached, like it's now, like yours it, but… it still hurt.

It was a long time ago – roughly eight years from now. Old, forgotten news.

I lost track of your Assassins, I'm afraid. They might be engaged in a war I consider foolish at best, but they certainly know how to go underground. The last I know is that your father bought a boat, and then disappeared somewhere to the Atlantic – and even that information was difficult to ascertain. Thankfully, Abstergo holds secrets like a sieve – all you need is to find the right person and _squeeze_.

Oh?

Hmm… your heart beat spiked for a moment. Can you hear me, Desmond? Are you dreaming? I'm sorry we don't have an Animus to throw you in, but honestly at this point I think a break from having your genes scrambled might be just what you need. You certainly look better, but… that might be the infection clearing off.

Anyway, I am sure your Assassin friends are fine, though… how much your friends they are, I can't really tell. You did go behind their back to talk to me, which… I wonder now. A whisper in the wind tells me you're now being hailed as Assassin hero, the potential best of them all, now lost to them. Your fathers doing, perhaps? You did save the world, and they know it – they're almost the only ones who do. And yet you all but lied to them. Tut tut.

Perhaps you saw something similar in me that I see in you. A kindred of strife and struggle. Heh.

I admit I have been drinking a little this evening. I am… exhausted.

Sasha is… persistent, and consistently growing more clever with her abilities. It would be notable, if she chose to apply her abilities in a different way. Perhaps I can persuade her in turn – she does seem very keen on impressing _me,_ anyway. Her toxic excretions, they have potential, if we could only increase the yield. Perhaps once the Ray Sphere…

I am still working on it. The flaw is still there, and the recordings from you… they did not help, not enough.

Hmm…

It's late.

Sleep well, Desmond.

* * *

It is the 13th of February now – or as Sasha so delightfully put it, the Eve of Valentine's day. Not that it is in any way relevant. No change on your end, as you might've already guessed. Not so much a blip on your vitals.

I have been advancing in the Ray Sphere experiments, and they are starting to bring results. Fewer exploding monkeys, and more flying rats. I know it works, now, it will work, when activated by the right person in the right place. Some minor tweaks need to be done, but… it will work. Unfortunately… the side effect remains. 

I have a theory, fantastical enough to make my own younger self, from a mere year ago, scoff and scorn… but one I have to now entertain. What you did in the grand temple, it has… changed something fundamental about our planet. Perhaps the very electromagnetic field around Earth has been altered. Whatever it is, it is affecting the people, the ones with the right genes, increasing the expression of their neuro-electricity by a hundred fold, allowing them, at last, to activate. That is clear enough.

The Ray Sphere… it's not entirely my invention. The original idea came from the future, from inventors and minds that don't exist here. The original iteration of the First Sons, naturally, they were the ones who created the original Ray sphere, a much less powerful one admittedly. It was finished, in manner of speaking, in 2018, and it's development happened _entirely_ under the altered magnetosphere. It was designed, ground up, to work in that environment.

I brought those original designs with me, and they are what our development is based on. But, of course… the alteration of the magnetic field wasn't there, not yet. That which makes Conduits stronger now did not yet exist for our decades of research. And we have been attempting, unknowingly, to… compensate for a lack of a thing that is no longer lacking.

I tried to recalibrate the Ray Sphere, but it is as though it resists my alterations, now. We have made a nearly perfect thing for the task, only… we designed for clear skies and low humidity. We're all in fog now. And the Ray Sphere will light that fog on _fire_.

I do not know when, exactly, the Beast will emerge this time, but I fear it will be much sooner than it did in mine. There isn't enough time to build another Ray Sphere, not with the amount of alterations it will demand. I must change this one, somehow. But how…

I do wish you woke up, Desmond. Talking with you put these things into a fresh new perspective.

I find I rather miss it.

* * *

Sasha was here. I have kept the others away from you as much as I could – only your attending doctor and myself have free access to your room, everyone else has been kept at bay. It seems it wasn't quite enough – she has laid her eyes on you and she is not thrilled.

Unfortunately to run an organisation like First Sons at peak efficiency, there must be a certain level of… competition maintained between the members for optimal personal growth. For them to keep pushing their own limits, they need to have a goal to strive towards – and an example to push them forth – and so I encourage the rivalry between the higher level members, in order to help them advance their abilities. It works remarkably well, really – but it also breeds certain… hostility.

And whenever I show any kind of favouritism… well. It tends to lead to quite a bit of jealousy. And dear Sasha is quite keen on becoming my most favourite. I believe she even thought she already was, enjoying her newfound power and influence with _gusto_ …

Until she learned about you.

And now I am afraid you have become my enviable, hateable favourite. And I suppose you are. Unconscious though you still remain. I trust with you secrets I have not shared… ever with any other human being, Conduit or otherwise. It's the sort of trust and power Sasha craves – to be the keeper of my darker thoughts and deepest secrets, the trusted, the beloved. Like you.

The assumptions she's making, heh, they are almost amusing in their sheer ludicrousness.

I would get rid of her now, just for the danger she poses, but unfortunately Sasha's power is showing signs of promise and I have a use for it. I need to give her the illusion of control over me, something she thinks she can hold over my head, which will keep her in check. Perhaps… Well. I have done worse things for less gain.

I would rather appreciate it if you were to just wake up, Desmond. Conduit or not, you are an Assassin in your very prime. I am an old man, too weary to keep with the likes of Sasha – but you… I don't think you would have much trouble there.

I will increase the security here. Just in case.

Sleep well.

* * *

It is April now. I have made little progress in combating the _flaw_ in the Ray Sphere, and I am running out of time. Adversely, the experiments on the Ray Sphere's original purpose have been proving increasingly impressive. It is ready to be used, but for that fatal flaw. And I am running out of time.

I went to see him today – my chosen Conduit. Actually… Did I ever tell you about him? Likely not. The First Sons believe I will use the Ray Sphere on myself, but I will not. If being in the vicinity will give me more power, then so be it, but I am not the one who will activate the Ray Sphere. Fighting ungodly monsters is a younger man's game, I'm afraid, I haven't the vigour for it. Perhaps you would have, but again… you're still in a coma. And I am starting to wonder if you will ever wake up.

Regardless. I went to see him. He looks well – cocky, proud, utterly insignificant and completely forgettable amidst the masses of Empire City. He's a _nobody_ , from no particularly powerful family, squandering what few talents he has, wasting away in an useless job for no other reason than… because.

He would like you, Desmond – you two are very alike. Granted, Cole doesn't have an Assassin lineage behind him, he isn't running away from grand destiny… not that he knows, anyway. But he too chose a simpler life out of rebellion, rejecting good schooling and the help of family to strike out on his own – and to fail on his own. He has the wits for more, I know it, he is more than capable of greatness… but he rejects it. Like you did, for your little bar, for your civilian life.

He's a squatter. Our hero, too poor to afford a roof on top of his head, he lives on top of one instead. Heh.

I almost forgot how pitiful Cole was. What a strange thing to feel nostalgic for – that _squalor_.

I will put the Ray Sphere in his hands, in his unknowing, insignificant hands, and I will make him great. Whether he wants it or not, I will make him powerful, I will make him suffer and I will make him stronger for it, until one day, he will be strong enough to face the Beast. By natural means, it took years to reach that level of strength, with the Ray Sphere it will take him weeks – and Cole will keep on growing, far beyond normal limits. Perhaps he will lose all limits in general and grow constantly, endlessly, and forever.

Wouldn't that be something special?

I… I should get back to work. Time is running short.

Isn't that ironic?

* * *

I can't wait anymore. The Ray Sphere is ready for its purpose – the one I intended, and the one I did not. And the word of it has spread – people are coming for it. There are spies among the First Sons, and they are arranging for an assault. If I do not act now, I might lose the Ray Sphere before I have the chance to do anything with it, never mind activate it, or change it.

I fear the plague is something I will simply have to contend with. There isn't time. I will try to work on a cure afterwards – I have to make sure the world will be saved first. The plague won't even matter, if the Beast will have his way. I have to activate Cole, and put him on his path. Then I can worry about the side effects and do what I can to combat them.

Indeed, I will likely have a better chance of it, once I see the plague in action, how severe it will be, how it will work. As it is right now, I have had very little luck – currently I am a blind man trying to sketch fortifications against siege engines I can't even see. It's useless. After the activation… then I will see.

I will arrange for it tomorrow. Cole will receive the Ray Sphere to be delivered and once he is in position… it will activate in his hands. I will make sure of it. It will happen in the most populous district of Empire City and Cole will enjoy the force of _tens of thousands_ of lives powering him up. It will be as tragic as it will be magnificent, and it will only be the start.

Ah. I think you can hear me after all. Your heartbeat is picking up, your blood pressure is rising – adrenaline spiking. Do you not approve? No, of course not. Death of so many innocents, it's hardly in adherence to your Creed, is it? No. But it must be done.

I will arrange it so that you will be within the blast radius. You have the Conduit gene, so it will not kill you. With any hope it will finally _activate_ you. And if not, then perhaps it will at least awaken you.

You have one day left to stop me. One day to wake up. I doubt you will after all this time, but… you're welcome to prove me wrong.

No?

Didn't think so.

Sleep well, Desmond.

Tomorrow will be a brand new day.


	2. Chapter 2

Desmond wakes up to a sense of danger, _immediate_ danger. 

He moves before he can fully even wake up, rolling out of the way – and off the gurney he's lying on, crashing shoulder first into hard floor. Just then, a piece of the ceiling falls, crashing down into the gurney and almost right through it – the thing rattles like a shopping cart and falls over, and there's a smell of burning fabric, of smoke, ash – stone dust.

Gasping, he gives the gurney a confused, alarmed look, and then looks around. What the hell…?

There's fire – the building around him is on _fire._ Not completely, it's not exactly _engulfed_ , but there's smoke blowing into the room, there's ash floating about – he can feel the heat. Outside the open door, the cracked wall, there's flames. The windows are all broken, they'd blown inwards going by the glass shards everywhere.

Pushing himself up from the floor, Desmond winces at stabbing pain on his right arm. Grabbing at it, he feels bulky _something_ under the sleeve, like he's wearing a gauntlet, it feels like metal – then there's a crash somewhere, big enough and heavy enough that it makes the building shudder and groan. Somewhere even farther away, there's screaming.

For a moment Desmond thinks _Monteriggioni is burning_ , for a moment he imagines Ezio, trying to make his way through the flames – and then a ceiling lamp falls beside him, shattering into pieces, and it's the present.

And it feels like the whole building is about to collapse.

Confused, his vision spinning, Desmond pushes to his feet, making a split decision between the door and the window, and going for the latter. Outside the scene is – it barely makes sense. There's a _crater_ , smoking and _glowing_ with melted metal and burned rock, with a little raised area in the middle, like – like craters on the moon or something, except this is right in middle of a city, with buildings all around it, with evidence of there having been _more_ buildings, before –

Masyaf on fire – Monteriggioni – _Kanatahséton_ –

The building gives another warning shudder, and biting back a curse, Desmond looks around and then climbs out of the window. There's a hot wind rising from the crater – and from the building below. The fire that's just starting on the floor he's in, it's already going on strong in the lower floors, and it looks like it's just starting to pick up speed. He has to get out of here.

"Help me, please help me!" someone screams somewhere, and Desmond turns to the voice. There's a woman, hanging off a window little to the left, reaching for him. "Please, I don't want to die!"

Between them, there's a gap where a chunk of the building is just… missing.

"I – I'll try to get to you," Desmond says, shaking his head, looking around, trying to shake away the image of a tower cracked open by a canon ball. "Just, hold on, don't let go –"

The building gives off another tremor, and the woman screams, and falls. Desmond makes an aborted move to do – something, he's not sure what. They're on the fifth, maybe the sixth floor, there's a long way between them – there is no way he could catch her. And he doesn't.

She hits the ground, and her scream cuts off.

"F-fuck," Desmond whispers. "What the –"

Somewhere across the crater something blows up – a car maybe. Altaïr is standing on a bent steel beam sticking out of the building, preparing to jump. Everything _spins._

Swallowing bile and confusion, Desmond forces himself to concentrate. The building is coming down, he – he can't get distracted – he has to get out. He has to get _down_ and away before the thing collapsed and took him with it. Right. _Now_.

He begins climbing down and as he does his eyes catch the gleam of light hitting and _reflecting off_ his right hand. It almost makes his grip on the windowsill slip, almost sends him falling, as he gapes at the alien fingers, gripping the stone. It had felt numb, he'd sort of off-hand realised that, but – what – _no_. There isn't time. He can't get distracted.

Desmond climbs down, trying to ignore the fact that his fingers don't feel like _anything_ , that the stone cutting into his left hand is doing nothing to the right, and his right is definitely stronger than the left. There's no time. _Don't think about it_.

He makes it to the ground, just as the building begins collapsing. Desmond can feel it in the ground, can hear it – enormous crash as a floor fell on another. A cloud of smoke and fire rises from the top, and then another crash follows – on the right side of the building a whole wall collapses, folding like a house of cards, turning in an instant to rubble.

Desmond backs away through a ghostly crowd of fleeing refugees from different time periods, and then further away, to a broken street, where other people, actual _living_ people, are standing or huddling, crying, staring. The building Desmond was on isn't the only one collapsing – there's a lot of them. It looks like the whole city is on fire.

Shaking his head, so beyond confused now that he's barely able to _think,_ Desmond turns to the other people on the street. Some are trying to help each other, but most of them look too shell shocked to do anything but stare in horror. Few are trying to use phones, trying to call someone, but it doesn't look like they're getting signals. A lot of people are injured. The ghosts between them don't help Desmond to concentrate _at all._

"What happened?" he pleads. "What is going on?"

No one answers him, too busy with their own horror to even notice him. Desmond looks between them and the devastation, and then searches for someone who doesn't look too traumatised to speak – a guy who's filming everything with his phone.

"Hey," Desmond says, approaching him, "What is this – what happened?"

"A bomb went off, man – right there," the guy says pointing the camera towards the crater. "Just, boom, out of nowhere, or was fucking crazy"

"I – okay," Desmond says, running a hand through his hair, making a face when his fingers get tangled in it. Tucking at it, he can almost _see_ it – it's longer than he's had it in years. Shaking his head he turns back to the guy filming. "But – how? Was it – does anyone know _why_ , who's behind it –"

The guy doesn't know – no one knows. It was a normal evening, and then suddenly an explosion – that's all anyone knows. "Can't get a signal, can't check the news, nothing," the guy says. "The power's out in the whole city, all the cell towers – but I heard they were corralling people to the bridge, and over to Neon. Maybe they know something over there – I'm gonna head there myself – "

It's like everything stalls for a moment as the words sink in and Desmond's blood runs cold. "Neon – you mean, _Neon District_ – shit – this place, I'm in _Empire City_?"

"Yeah, man," the guy with the phone says and looks at him. "You hit your head pretty hard, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Desmond says and then looks towards the crater. An explosion in Empire City. _Son of a bitch._ Then another realisation dawn on him, as his eyes catch Ezio, helping Claudia to her feet. "Hey, man, can – can you tell me what day is it? Hell, what _month_ , what _year_?"

The guy looks at him like he's insane, and then tells him – and Desmond can't blame him. It'd been nearly five months.

Five months he can't remember.

"Thanks," Desmond says, his voice faint, as the ghosts fade away. "There's a bridge, you said? Which way is it?"

By the bridge he learns more, but not much and nothing particularly comforting. The explosion was six city blocks wide – meaning that buildings within that distance hadn't just gotten damaged, they'd been _pulverised_. Desmond had been just on the fringes of the blast radius, on one of the buildings that had suffered the brunt of the impact and the fires, but hadn't been completely destroyed. The estimated dead were well over ten thousand. No one knew what caused the explosion. It just happened, without a warning.

Desmond has an artificial arm, and it's _shaking_.

"I'm sorry – there's people who need more help," the medic who'd given him the death toll estimate says, and then leaves him on the side of the road beside an ambulance, while she goes off to tend to people with actual injuries. Desmond doesn't even look up, rubbing at the spot where his arm ends and the _replacement_ begins, trying to make sense of it.

He's wearing strange clothes – a long white coat, almost familiar but definitely not something he's ever worn. The shirt under it is some sort of hi-tech fabric, one of those fancy sport shirts that _breathes_ or whatever – the trousers are similar. And he's for who knows what reason wearing split toe shoes. Maybe for climbing? It's definitely fitting gear for an Assassin. The coat even has a hood. Doesn't have a beak though.

It's definitely not helping with the bleeding effect, which is still going strong.

With his left hand, Desmond rummages through his pockets, coming away first with a switchblade, then a handgun, some bullets, and finally a tape recorder. No hidden blade which… he's not sure is a good sign. There's a cell phone in his pocket, which looks promising… but it has no saved contacts, nothing in its history, and no signal. Desmond also finds a wallet full of money, but there's no ID, not even fake one. And nothing else.

Flexing the metal fingers in and out, Desmond turns the recorder in his hand, and then presses play.

"Desmond," Kessler growls, slightly tinny in the low quality speakers. "As the chance of you waking up anytime soon is starting to look less and less likely –"

Desmond hits the stop button and gets up. Whatever the message is, he isn't going to be listening to it in the middle of a crowd, especially not a crowd full of Kessler's _victims_.

But damn, the explanation better be a fucking good one.

* * *

Eventually Kessler's voice fades away and the last recording ends after what feels like a small eternity. Desmond says nothing into the ensuing silence, the recorder resting in his near limp left hand, fingers loosely curled around it. He's staring at his other hand, watching the flames gleam on the metal fingers, watching the quiet pulse of the lights along the outer arm. The thing has a power source somewhere. Of course it does.

There's an Assassin sitting beside him, he's not sure which one, and the building across from him is on fire. He's been watching the flames engulf it at a steady pace and now there's fire in every window, and a section of the wall on the top floor had collapsed inwards. The rest of the building would probably follow soon after. It's not the only building on fire either – the fires are still spreading, reaching outwards from the blast zone, from one old building to another.

Kessler had chosen the Historic District of Empire City as his ground zero – where the buildings were pretty damn old, and definitely not built to any kind of fire code. Even the stone ones were going up like tinder. God knew how high the death toll would rise before the day would be over.

Desmond flexes his metal fingers in and out and then takes a deep breath. The Assassin is gone. "Okay. _Fuck_ ," he says, quietly but with a feeling, and then shoves the recorder in his coat pocket. He's not sure what he's going to do, but he's gotta do something. Find Kessler. Shake an answer to _what the fuck_ out of him.

Maybe kill him.

Taking a deep breath Desmond steps up to the edge of the rooftop and then squints his eyes and concentrates...

And immediately gets a _splitting headache_.

It's like a spike being driven through his head through his optic nerves. The city seems to almost explode into his head – its steers, buildings, water ways, it's _life_. Thousands upon thousands of people across the three islands seem to _pour_ into his head, pinpricks of energy in his retinas, and amidst them burts of golden importance. There's _so many_. Dozens of points of importance. Maybe hundreds.

Conduits. Desmond has no idea how he knows, but he does – he can _see_ Conduits, feel them, all across the city. Dozens and dozens of them, activating, awakening. And across the river, in Neon, there's a light so vivid it's drowning everything else, smothering everything around it, it's so _bright –_

Desmond manages to _stop looking_ barely in time to stop himself from passing out – but it's all still there, in his head, like an after image burned into his brain. He knows the city to its _core_ , he knows where everyone is. He thinks if it had gone on for a moment longer, he might've learned to know what they were _feeling._

Fuck. Seems the Ray Sphere did something after all.

Pressing his hand over his burning eyes for a moment, Desmond forces himself to breathe through. It takes a while before the spots in front of his vision clear and he dares to open his eyes again. His vision wobbles a little, before settling down to something like normal. It still hurts.

He's surrounded by ghosts again, flickering in and out, like TV broadcast on the fritz. They're quickly fading away but what just happened, it definitely didn't do good things to his head. Jesus.

Yeah. Desmond is not going to be trying that again in a while. But he did get something from it. He definitely knows where Cole is. Across the river, in Neon – already growing more powerful.

And that's probably where Desmond would find Kessler, too.

* * *

They're hastily setting up a field hospital at the other end of the bridge, with ambulances all over and people streaming steadily over from the Historic District. There's harried nurses and doctors scrambling to treat everyone, and it doesn't look like they will be able to. That's too many people hurt. Lot of them probably wouldn't make it.

Passing though the place without being hurt or being able to help is awkward, but not particularly hard – the only issue Desmond gets is where a guy half blinded by blood streaming from his forehead mistakes him for a doctor, probably because of the coat. Desmond gets the guy a wad of gauze, tells him to hold pressure on the wound, and moves on, increasingly uncomfortable. Everywhere he looks, there's someone burnt, or bleeding, or nursing some other injury.

Kessler has a fucking _lot_ to answer for. And it's quickly becoming apparent he's nowhere to be found.

Cole is – his unconscious body had been sequestered away on a gurney with other more severely injured. And no wonder. The guy has burns all over, barely bandaged up – looks like the blast burned away his hair and everything. He definitely didn't come from his unwitting powerup unscathed, the poor bastard. Doesn't look like he'd be coming to anytime soon, either.

There's a guy sitting with Cole, definitely not Kessler – too young, too heavy, too… _Elvis-impersonator_. "Yeah, can I help you with something?" the guy asks, spotting him staring.

"I'm looking for someone – old guy, thin and bald, kinda creepy, has an arm a bit like this?" Desmond says, lifting his right hand.

The guy peers at him over his sunglasses. "Can't say I've seen him – you should check Trish over there, she's keeping track of IDs. If he's here, she'll have him on file."

Desmond shakes his head. "He's not hurt," he says, absolutely certain about that – Kessler wouldn't have let himself get injured, not at such a crucial moment. "Thanks anyway. Your buddy there, he – uh. How bad?"

The Elvis-impersonator guy sighs. "Got shocked by electricity when some cables came down. He's going to be just fine, though," he says with conviction. "I know he will."

Desmond nods slowly. "Yeah," he says. For a moment he teeters there, uncertain what to do. Kessler isn't here. Cole wouldn't even know anything, even if he was conscious enough to talk. And the field hospital is bringing all kinds of old hurts to the surface. Assassins and injuries, a winning combination.

He can't tell if the bed to the right of him is occupied or not – of whether the person lying on it is Ezio or not. They got a stomach injury anyway.

"You, uh… wanna sit down?" the guy sitting by Cole's bedside asks. "You don't look so hot yourself. And I can't say I'd mind the company."

"... Yeah okay," Desmond says, sitting on a foldable stool. His hand is shaking again and his head is pounding. "Thanks."

"Hell of a day, huh," the guy says and then offers a meaty have towards him. "I'm Zeke – this here is my buddy Cole."

Desmond looks at the hand – the _right_ hand – Zeke is offering, and then carefully shakes it with the prosthetic hand. "Desmond," he says and clears his throat. "I guess your buddy was pretty close to the blast."

"I think so yeah," Zeke agrees and sighs. "Though this happened on the bridge. Damn cables – don't even know how many volts went running through him. Not sure I want to know."

"Damn," Desmond says sympathetically. "Were you in Historic? Did you see it?"

"Yeah, though not close up."

"I was unconscious – can you tell me what it was like?"

Zeke is an enthusiastic, if not terribly _precise_ storyteller. Apparently it was like no explosion he'd ever seen – more like a dome of light that ate half of the district up for a while, just engulfing the buildings, the streets, the people. The explosion, actual fire and smoke _explosion_ , couldn't even be seen until the light show died down and the dome collapsed. 

"Honestly, for a moment that I thought there'd just be a big pit where Historic is," Zeke says. "It was like those movie black hole explosions, you know – that just gobbles up everything it touches, leaving behind just a spherical hole. 'Course the reality is much worse."

"Yeah," Desmond murmurs, looking away. It's easier to imagine than he'd like. "What do you think caused it?" He asks, relieved to find the bed to the right occupied by someone he absolutely doesn't know.

"Well, I thought terrorists, like everyone else, but hell if I know. No one's taking credit from what I can tell," Zeke says, taking out his phone and peering at it. "No one seems to have any idea what the fuck is going on. So right now I'm between a _government project which went tits up_ or… aliens."

"Aliens," Desmond repeats slowly, glancing at the phone. 

"Hell, it makes as much sense as anything. What about you, what do you think happened?"

Desmond looks at Cole, flexing his right hand, trying to get a feel to it. "I think someone desperate did something… stupid."

Zeke glances at him. "But intentional? You think someone did this on purpose?"

Desmond blows out a breath. "Yeah. I do," he says and then looks away. He should go before he says something incriminating, but… Cole is his only lead. Unless Eagle Vision decided to start working properly anyway…

Well, he is surrounded by medical personnel. No better place to induce a stroke.

Blowing out a breath Desmond concentrates again, trying to limit what he sees – he doesn't need to know where _everyone_ in Empire City is or how many Conduits there are, he just needs to find Kessler…

The spike through the head isn't any less painful this time, but at least he knows to expect it. There is still too much information emblazoning itself into his neurons – like the fact that Cole is a Source and a Sink and _changing_ and that Zeke isn't a Conduit, doesn't have the gene – but Desmond manages to force it, to almost _steer_ the Eagle Vision. 

_Kessler, I need to find_ **_Kessler…_ **

With Cole so nearby Desmond can't see much beyond the guy's massive, electric aura. He does get a feeling though. Historic District. Of course.

And then something snaps, and Desmond just barely keeps himself from throwing up on Zeke. He can feel it – feel _them_ , the people in the Historic District.

He can feel them _dying._

"Whoa, hey there –" Zeke says as Desmond stumbles to his feet, and past Connor and Altaïr, right through Ezio –

"Sorry," Desmond groans, manages just a couple of steps to the side, before dry heaving stomach acid into the asphalt.

"Hey, _hey_ –" Zeke says, coming over to him. "Has anyone checked you over, buddy? You might have a concussion."

Desmond chokes out a laugh, glancing at the ghosts and wincing. "Nah," he says, trying to wipe at his mouth and almost bruising his lips with the prosthetic. "No, I'm just fucked."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted mind control and somewhat suicidal ideation.

Within 24 hours, Empire City is quarantined.

In that time, Desmond manages to give himself a migraine, a fever, and dehydration, trying to wrangle both the Bleeding Effect and the Eagle Vision under control – with less than stellar results. It goes from _blowing up_ in his face every time he tries to use it to turning itself on and off without his say so and for a while he's nearly blinded by it going on. It's bad enough, that Zeke gets him a bed in the field hospital, and Desmond misses most of that day.

The next day, the first whispers of the Plague begin – and the fact that it gets a capital letter name so fast is more than a little suspicious. It takes a while for Desmond to get any information about it, no one has much time to talk to one sick guy among many, but his bed ends up close to Cole's, and Zeke's still up and about and apparently sticking his nose into things – and no one but Desmond has the time to listen to him.

"Some sort of radiation sickness, they think," he explains, poking at his phone. "Organ failure, internal bleeding, that sort of thing. Nasty stuff."

Desmond says nothing, thinking of what Kessler had said, about his plan for Empire City. Fake a plague, quarantine the city, wait for the Ray Sphere event to run its course – wait for Cole to grow strong. Then… what? Was there even a plan for what happened after – does it matter? Now the plague is real, and it would spread. The people just don't know it yet, and their only clue to the disease's real nature is the name, which Desmond suspects someone put into their consciousness.

"It's going to get bad," he murmurs and pushes himself up, groaning as his head spins and he sees white hooded figure in the corner of his vision. "It's going to get really bad in here."

"Hell, yeah, probably," Zeke says and glances at him. "You know, I don't think they are letting in any emergency personnel from outside. No one in and no one out. I mean, I hope it won't be for long, but if it is…"

The first riot happens the very next day – and it's just the start of many. The field hospital has been cleared up by then, people moved either into actual hospitals or sent home. Desmond is by them up and about, still half blind with the Eagle Vision and the headache, but more mobile and in far better shape than most of the other patients. The visions are still there, but slightly less frequent, and though Desmond probably would get extra care if he admitted having hallucinations on the regular… he really doesn't feel like admitting it. So, he gets more or less kicked out – Zeke in the meanwhile wrangles himself to go with Cole.

"It was nice meeting you, Desmond – hang in there, okay? Be seeing you," Zeke says, as Desmond pulls on the white coat, trying to not let it snag on the artificial arm.

"Yeah, see you," Desmond says, and then tries to figure out what to do.

Historic district is still burning, there are still people dying in there, tens and dozens every minute, trapped in the buildings or caught up in the fires. It would be a while before the dying would be done, if it would be done. There are people already resorting to robbery, and Desmond wouldn't be surprised if the riots wouldn't lead to more deaths. Electricity is still down, there's no running water, and with the city quarantined there wouldn't be any trucks coming in to restock the stores.

"Yeah," Desmond murmurs to Altaïr, after making his way to a rooftop, to see over the water to Historic – the bridge has been lifted, the district closed off. Altaïr was up there, waiting for him. "Yeah, we're fucked, huh?"

Sitting down on the edge of the rooftop beside the spectre, Desmond takes out the tape recorder and listens to the messages again, rewinding in places. Kessler says a lot and a lot of it's concerning, but the key parts are pretty clear. The First Sons – all of them with the Conduit Gene. Sasha, who activated hers even before the blast. Kessler himself. They should all be here, and with Kessler's aim of making Cole strong… they'd probably end up doing something, at Kessler's behest, to make that happen. That would be Desmond's way to find them – once Cole woke up, and discovered his powers…

Desmond would have to be ready – he would have to get the vision thing under control, somehow. And in the meanwhile he had to figure out how to contact the outside world, contact the Assassins. If they didn't know what was going on…

He should've told them, when there was still time, before the flare. They probably wouldn't have believed him at the time, but now… they should. But he hadn't.

Shit.

* * *

Desmond ends up sleeping on rooftops, for those first couple of days, watching as Empire City slowly went to hell. The few times he tried to do something about it, tried to help the innocent people on the streets, it didn't go exactly according to plan. With the Eagle Vision still spazzing on him, Bleeding Effect confusing him, and the migraine a nearly constant thing now, the only thing he managed to achieve was getting his ass kicked by a couple of hooligans, and almost getting shot by an angry shopkeeper, who thought he was trying to rob the guy. 

So, in the end Desmond just keeps his distance from everyone and suffers through his… _affliction_ in something like peace. Trying to keep an eye on Cole is almost all he can manage. The guy's still unconscious and still changing and so far no one had gone after him, which is both relieving and somewhat disappointing. There's still no sign of Kessler. Everything is just… re-shaping, slowly, inexorably, towards a terrible new status quo around the city. Everyone seems to be waiting for it.

Fourth day, the migraine finally passes, though not without a last delirium inducing hurrah. By the time Desmond wakes up from the fever dreams, sweaty and shaky, he feels weak and sick to his stomach, hunger and dehydration making him dry heave onto the rooftop once more.

He's also not alone – and this time it's more than the ghosts keeping him company.

"Are you done now?" the woman sitting on an enormous AC unit asks, one leg crossed over another. "As much as I enjoy watching you writhe, _darling,_ watching a man vomit onto the carpet is hardly high on my list of preferable activities – especially not when it's not me making him throw up."

Desmond wipes his mouth shakily, shifting to his hands and knees and then to sit up, watching her. She's a Conduit, that much is plainly obvious. She's dressed in a short jacket with a hood that shields her head and casts her face in shadow, obscuring everything but the _leer_ on her face. She's also leaking a purplish black _tar_ from her sodden bare feet, the legs of her skin tight trousers completely soaked.

"Sasha, I presume?" Desmond croaks.

"Oh, well done, dearest, well done indeed – yes," she says, smiling a little wider. "And you're Kessler's little _pet_. I've been looking for you – what a terrible shock it was to find you gone, so sudden."

Desmond swallows, rolling his tongue around his mouth to try and get rid of the taste of the bile, with not much success. "Had things to do," he says and stands up shakily. "Explosions to see. What can I do for you?"

"I thought I would kill you," Sasha muses conversationally, swinging her bare foot from side to side, splattering the rooftop with her goo. "Whatever Kessler sees in you, that will certainly come to an end with your death – he's far too busy to concern himself with corpses. But having seen you, up and about like this, and _so_ pathetic – "

Sasha moves, and Desmond quickly goes for the switchblade. He barely manages to snap it out in time to stick it into her stomach, and then she's on him – literally, _on him_. They both go onto the roof, she bearing him down to the concrete, hard enough to slam his head against it, and then both her hands are at each side of his head, and she's – _drooling over him._

Desmond's eyes widen and then he closes his eyes and mouth, scrunching his face just as the purple tar pours all over his face, from her mouth, her eyes, her _ears._ It smells like the sewer, like _ozone_ , and it's immediately all over his face, with Sasha's long, sharp nailed fingers trying to pry his eyelids open, trying to force his jaw to unclench.

Desmond doesn't take it without a fight, blindly stabbing her again and again, trying to angle the knife so that it goes for her heart. It has an impact, but the most she does is groan almost fucking _sensually_ and roll against it.

"There you go, darling, just _breathe_ it in – show me what Kessler sees in you and perhaps I will keep you as well, keep you as my pet too, maybe I will even let him – "

Desmond kicks and writhes and just barely manages to knock her off him. Wiping at his face to get the junk out, he scrambles back away from the woman. His vision is a blur when he gets one eye open, and though he expects the Bleeding Effect, it's just him and Sasha on the rooftop – and she isn't even _bleeding._ The puncture marks are there, glistening like – like the surface of something liquid, not like a wound.

The woman stands up with a luxurious stretch and looks down at the marks in her gut. Then she laughs and peels back the broken skin there, to reveal that she's not blood and flesh underneath – just more of her purple tar. "Lovely isn't it?" she asks, stroking the revealed, glistening surface. "The gift of the Ray Sphere – my very flesh turned into power, into perfection. Would you like a taste?"

"Not particularly," Desmond says, wiping the gunk off his eyes and grabbing for his gun instead, snapping the safety off, and shooting her right between the eyes.

And right before _his_ eyes Sasha heals, laughing at him as he skin closes, her eyes glistening with the tar too.

"Oh, poor poor baby," Sasha coos and begins sauntering over to him, slow and creepily over sexual. "Having to rely on such weak old toys! Didn't the Ray Sphere gift you with anything useful? Was dear darling Kessler wrong about you after all? Are you even a Conduit?"

Desmond shoots her again, and again, emptying the whole clip into her, and watches her heal over each bullet wound like water closing over thrown pebbles. And if bullets and blades don't work on her, then hitting her would probably do nothing either. The woman is fucking _immortal._

"Come now, my sweet, stay still – I can help you," Sasha purrs, holding out her hands, both of them dripping now. "My gift from the Raysphere, one of many – I can turn others into Conduits. Do you want it? Kneel before me, sweet, kneel and I will give it to you. It would be my pleasure."

"Lady, you're crazy as fuck," Desmond says plainly, backing away to the roof's edge. "You just tried to – why the hell would I want you to do _anything_ to me?"

"Don't you want power?" Sasha whispers, hips swaying – she's doing a catwalk now. "Don't you want to prove to Kessler you're strong? Tell me, did he leave you in the gutter when the blast did nothing for you? Did he just ditch you?"

Desmond swallows and glances behind himself, over the roof's edge, into the alley down below. "Where is he?"

"I will tell you – if you just… get down here… and _kneel_ ," she purrs, making a _come hither_ sort of motion with both hands. "Come here, and drink up. I'm sure you will like it."

"Yeah, how about _no_?" Desmond says flatly, and as she makes a move to rush him again, Desmond steps back, off the roof's edge, and lets himself fall. As he flips mid air so that he'll land on his behind instead of on his feet, he can see Sasha looking over the edge, watching as he hits the trash container, landing among the trash bags.

 _Oh, how rude_ , Sasha's voice mutters in his ear as she folds her arms. _And here I thought we were about to become the best of friends…_

Giving her a wide eyed glance, Desmond chooses better part of valour, swings out of the trash container, and runs the fuck away.

* * *

After washing Sasha's gunk off him as well as he can in a fountain that still has some water in it, Desmond rewinds the whole thing in his head and tries to make some sense of it. It… doesn't help much, really. Because once he has the time to catch his breath he's just left with this sense of… _what the actual fuck was that_? He has no damn idea.

He hasn't had Bleeding Effect since seeing Sasha. Fuck, if that means her gunk can block the Bleeding Effect then, then… Desmond doesn't know what. The Bleeding Effect might've be back in force and really fucking confusing at times, but at least it's something _familiar_ and having it taken away was… it feels _wrong_. He's not sure he likes it.

Sasha was kind of on point on one thing, too, which Desmond isn't too happy about either. Kessler had left him pretty much in the ditch. Maybe if Desmond had stayed put the guy would've come back for him, but maybe not. There's the phone, sure, but without contacts and without a network it's not much help. There's the money, which, granted, has been supporting Desmond so far, but… it's only a matter of time before it would start losing its value? With no way in or out and no sign of functional trade forming between the quarantined area and the outside world…

"Tch," Desmond mutters and sits down on the edge of the fountain, trying to get the last of the gunk out of his hair. 

Kessler probably had more _important_ things to consider now that his plan was on the way, whatever it would be from here on out. Desmond's not really even expecting the guy to come to him – he'd have to go to him. But then what?

The death toll of the Ray Sphere blast is still climbing, and Kessler is guilty for it. He deserves to die. But at the same time, the plague, and the beat, and Cole…? And hell, now Sasha is running around being all… goopy. And who knows who else is developing fucking super powers out there. With Eagle Vision still on whack and the headache…

It's only in hindsight that Desmond realises his head feels way better – the headache is gone.

Looking up slowly, Desmond glances around. Ezio is sitting beside him, a ghostly Leonardo excitedly pointing at something in the crowd. It's almost a relief to see them – and it looks like a happy memory, for once.

Blowing out a slow breath, Desmond tentatively activates the Eagle Vision – and while it still feels like a _lot,_ it doesn't tear at his brain anymore. He can actually handle it, the flood of information and _sensation_ that takes over his brain, rushing at him like a tidal wave.

Though he couldn't begin to count them, he can feel every person in the city – he can see them. From the Historic District, to the Neon, to the Warren, he can see and feel everyone. There's so many people in pain, and he can sense it – he can sense them dying, too. And with each death that happens, each life that gets extinguished in the Historic District… the air seems to…

They're all mired in the Ray Sphere's influence, it's like a thick blanket of fog over the entire city. It's changing them all – Conduits and non-Conduits alike, it's sunken into them. And every death adds to it.

Running a hand over his forehead, Desmond frowns, glaces to his side – Ezio and Leonardo are gone – and then concentrates. _Kessler_ , he thinks, and then he can see the guy.

Kessler is in a stairwell, walking up it with a group of men in white and grey hazmat-type suits following him in a near formation – they're all covered in all kinds of breathing apparatuses. Not Kessler though – he's breathing in the Ray Sphere radiation, utterly uncaring of what it might do to him.

Kessler stops and turns his head – and somehow, even with half a city in between, he meets Desmond's eyes.

"Ah," Kessler says, while the people behind him still. "You're awake."

"You fucking son of a bitch," Desmond answers, his fingers clenching. "You complete fucking – "

Kessler frowns. "Cursing me accomplishes nothing," he says sharply. "Stop wasting your time, and mine. How are you?"

"Really fucking pissed," Desmond says, feeling as though he's shaking in every limb, even though he's sitting completely still. "And now that I can find you I think I'm going to have to come and kill you."

"Which, again, will accomplish little. The deed is done," Kessler says. "My death will not reverse it – the only thing it will do now is halt the work already on the way and cease my research. And I am the only hope there is to reversing the plague."

Desmond draws a slow breath, clenching his jaw. "Fuck," he then mutters. "You fucker."

Kessler hums in agreement. "For what it's worth, I wish it had gone down differently, but there was no time. Looking back now will do nothing – I must work now to mitigate the damage and make sure this _works._ You know what is at stake – are you going to hinder me?"

"I really feel like I should."

"And are you willing to accept the responsibility of the consequences?"

Desmond lets out a hiss and closes his eyes – even then he can still see Kessler there, in the windowless stairwell in some old building in the Historic District. "You deserve to die, Kessler."

"And I likely will, but not before my work is done," Kessler growls, firm, and final. "Now, will you help or hinder me?"

Shaking his head, Desmond runs his lone flesh hand over his face, trying to think. Having all the information pouring into his synapses isn't helping. "Your Sasha came to see me," he says, to buy time to think. "Blasted my face full of her goo."

"Ah, yes. I am sorry – she has grown somewhat more unstable since the Ray Sphere ignition," Kessler agrees. "We held her captive for a while, but she escaped this morning – I didn't know she might go looking for you, though I should have. She does resent you."

"Because of _you,_ " Desmond points out.

Kessler hums in agreement. "Can you handle her?" he asks almost curiously. "It really would be for the best if she was brought under control before she got any notions to her head, but I really have more important things to do right now.

Desmond snorts and shakes his head. "I'm not going to do your dirty work, you bastard."

"Then it will be partially on _your_ head, if she goes off to commit atrocities."

"Fuck you – you're not pinning her on me. You're the one who did this – this is on _you_ " Desmond snaps at him, lifting his head and glaring over the distance. "All of this is your fault, every fucking bit of it."

"Yes – and yet, if you have the power to stop it, and you know it, and you still choose to do _nothing_ … does that not make you culpable as well?" Kessler asks, more conversational than accusing. "I have made peace with my responsibility in this. I know she will do damage and I will choose to do nothing about it. I can bear the guilt of it. Can you?"

Desmond stands up. "I swear I'm going to kill you," he says quietly. "Before this is through, I am going to _kill you_."

"Perhaps," Kessler answers, turning to look away, continuing to walk up the stairs, ignoring the confused glances shared by his men behind his back. "But I fear you might find that privilege has been reserved for someone else."

Desmond hesitates at that, frowning. "… For Cole?" he asks.

"For Cole." Kessler agrees firmly, and the connection closes, leaving Desmond alone in his head again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Fuck. I don't know how to start this, uh… I just thought I should, even if…" Desmond trails away, holding the phone up and grinding the side of it against his forehead which is starting to ache again – though at least this time it's just a tension headache, and not a super-Eagle Vision induced migraine from hell. "I don't even know if you guys are alive. Do you know I am alive? Kessler kind of… nabbed me from the Grand Temple from what I could figure and… okay. I'll just…"

He has no idea how to start explaining everything. Does he start with Kessler at Bad Weather? Maybe he should. Does he cover the fact that he's been going behind the other's backs to talk to a random cult leader ever since his coma – his first coma because now he has _two_ lengthy comas under his belt. Does he tell them about the fact that the world had a chance of going down the toilet three different ways and between him and Kessler, they picked up the way? Yeah. He probably should just for posterity.

Someone should know, in case he didn't get out of this fucking city alive. And honestly, that is starting to look pretty unlikely.

"I met Kessler before Abstergo found me – the day before," Desmond says to a new recording, holding the phone close to his mouth while watching the city below, sitting on the roof of the highest building in Neon. "He came to Bad Weather, the bar I worked at – the only customer at the time. Wonder if he arranged that. Maybe. Anyway, he uh… we talked about, god I don't even remember how it went. It was about fate and destiny and predeterminism. Conduits, though I didn't really understand what it was back then… and time. Yeah, we talked about time, how it's like… a dimension on it's own. It was weird."

There's police sirens somewhere in the background – and for a moment Desmond thinks of being in New York, calling Kessler the first time. There'd been police sirens then too, in the distance. And Bleeding Effect, though he doesn't think he took as much comfort in it back then as he does now. Back then it was a sign of his still probably deteriorating mental state. Now… well, it's probably the same, but now there's something weirdly soothing, watching Assassins long gone parkour from one rooftop to another. The more things change...

"I didn't really believe Kessler back then, it was a weird fucking discussion. At the end of it he gave me two numbers to memorise," Desmond continues. "One was a phone number. The other was a set of winning lottery numbers for the next day. I thought it was a joke, but you know… what the hell. It was good for a laugh and what did I have to lose, just a couple of bucks. So I bought a ticket the next morning, didn't really expect anything to come off it."

For a moment Desmond is quiet, shaking his head. "I left the ticket in my backpack. Did you find it? did you cash it in? I hope you did, chances are I was never going to be able to. I still remember, how watched the numbers match exactly in the evening, how fucking bizarre it felt to watch them come in… just. How do you react to that? I still don't know. Anyway… half an hour later, Abstergo's goons grabbed me from the back alley behind Bad Weather. So I guess Kessler designed that too – giving me that proof, all the while knowing I wouldn't be able to do anything with it. And the phone number, yeah, I memorised it, and then couldn't use it for months. Go figure."

There's a scream, high pitched and sudden, in the alleyway below, and Desmond looks automatically down, Eagle Vision switching itself on only half intentionally. A woman with a bag of hard won groceries, being jumped by three guys, looking to rob her… and probably to do something worse.

The attackers all glow red – and one of them is a Conduit.

"Gotta go," Desmond says and closes the recorder app, shoving his phone into his pocket. Then, without further ado, Desmond pulls up his hood, takes his knife out, and jumps, heedless of the height, of the ghosts jumping with him.

Something good came from being a conduit, at least – fall damage isn't really a thing for him anymore.

The first attacker goes down when Desmond lands on his shoulders, and taking the impact of a man's weight at terminal velocity… yeah the guy wouldn't be getting up. The second man spots Desmond a little too late to avoid getting a switchblade to his neck, and though it's not an instantly mortal blow, it wouldn't be one he'd be recovering from. The last one…

"Oh, oh fuck!" the guy shouts and then lifts his hand – and there's a flicker around it. "You stupid son of a bitch, you don't even know who you're messing with!"

Desmond watches, getting ready, fire flickers around the guy's hand, forming into a ball. It's not a big one, but it is still conscious use of Conduit powers, which is… bad.

"Eat shit!" the Conduit shouts and lashes out with the fire, forming it into a sort of messy whip. Desmond jumps out of the way, pushing the still screaming woman to the side, and then ducks under the lashing fire whip. At least the guy has a shitty aim, thank small mercies, Desmond thinks, and then lashes the guy across the stomach with all his strength – a mortal blow for anyone.

Conduits are hard to kill though. Though the Conduit screams in pain and rage, the wound isn't even debilitating, and already he's preparing for another attack as Desmond turns the knife and stabs him in the neck, twisting, trying to induce as much bleeding as possible. The guy's blood is hot, _steaming_ hot – but it's not on fire. And if his blood is still flowing, it means he can bleed out.

As the Conduit staggers, Desmond trips him to the ground with a foot behind the guy's ankle, and follows him with the knife, stabbing him in the chest repeatedly until the damage gets finally too bad for the rapid healing to fix, and finally… the guy goes still.

Behind him, the sobbing woman scrambles away and runs, not even stopping to pick up her groceries.

"Shit," Desmond mutters, standing up and shaking the blood from his hands. The guy he stabbed in the neck is the last one to go down, collapsing to his knees and then to the ground, still alive, but not for long. Desmond watches dispassionately and then looks up as Ezio crouches down beside one of the dead. "Alright, fine," Desmond sighs and goes to close their eyes. "May death be kinder than you were in life. Rest in peace."

Ezio disappears and Desmond crouches down to rummage through the pockets of the dead men for anything useful. They have knives, which he checks and then dismisses – one has a gun but no bullets. Useless, but Desmond takes it anyway. The best he gets from the guys is a half smoked packet of cigarettes, some weed in a plastic bag and a bit of harder drugs. Might work as trade goods.

Honestly, the most valuable things there are the woman's groceries – some cans, some packets of dry goods, couple boxes of napkins, candles, water bottles… god knows what the poor woman traded for them. Desmond pokes at the stuff, looking up to where she went. He could go after her, track her down, give them back to her… and in so doing probably terrify the hell out of her.

Shaking his head, Desmond shoves everything back in the bags, and leaves the dead robbers on the ground. Someone would pick them up, or not. Considering how many dead there are already littering the streets… his bet is on _not_.

* * *

It's been little over a week since the blast, and things had not gotten better in Empire City – if anything, they'd gotten worse. There isn't a shop that hasn't been robbed. Just about every police car on the street has been set on fire at least once. Most everyone has either been robbed, or taken part in robbing. Food is scarce, clean water even more so, and people are growing more and more desperate. And no one's barely sending in any aid – occasional airdropped containers of basic supplies, nothing more.

It's like they've become an isolated island all of sudden – like the country outside doesn't even exist anymore. Considering the amount of dead, the crime, all the crap going on, Desmond would've though they would've sent in some kind of aid – national guard, military, fucking peace corps, anything. But there's nothing. The only government presence left is at the end of the Stanton Bridge, blocking it off with machine guns.

Kessler had isolated the city pretty fucking well. Desmond doesn't have any doubt that the guy is behind it all – he's had decades to plan this after all, and he did mention quarantine. Empire City has become the guy's Petri dish, pretty much, and it's pretty terrifying that the guy actually _managed_ it. There gotta be some push back, right? Empire City has hundreds of thousands of people, and Kessler had just cut it off. Against not just the government and whatever public and international pressure, but against shit like _Abstergo,_ Kessler had managed to somehow wield enough power and influence to just… take possession of an entire city. Hell, he made it look _easy_.

All for Cole, who finally, after days on end teetering on the edge of life and death, has come to. Desmond isn't there to see it, not in person – he's busy dragging bodies to the side of the road when it happens… but he can _feel it_. He thinks maybe every Conduit in the city can feel it. Cole is kind of at the centre of them all, even if none of them know it.

Looking up, Desmond concentrates and then he can see it – the by now familiar room where Cole has been resting for the past several days. Zeke is there, as per usual, reading a comic book while on the messy bed Cole opens his eyes with a gasp, his whole body tightening. His eyes glow electric blue.

Quickly, Desmond piles up the bodies to the side for someone to take care of, or not, and then makes his way to a safe place where he can watch.

"Cole, hey, take it easy, it's okay, you're okay," Zeke is saying, easing the guy back to the bed. "Damn it's good to see you awake, brother – it's been a while."

"Zeke," Cole answers and winces, rubbing at his head, feeling at his scalp. "What – what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I – there was an explosion?"

"Yeah, man. There sure was," Zeke says, and then sits down to give Cole the rundown, explaining that the explosion happened days ago, that Cole had gotten electric shock while trying to escape, and that he'd been out cold since then. While the guy talks about the quarantine and how bad things had gotten, Desmond watches Cole, how the guy feels at his own head and face, looking for burns no longer there, before looking at his hands.

Electricity sparks between the guy's fingers, and it's obvious by Cole's face he thinks he's seeing things – at least until there's a bigger bust of sparks, and even Zeke reacts, shouting, "Holy sh – what the hell was _that_?"

Desmond leans his chin to his knuckles, knee bouncing nervously as Cole spreads out his fingers, examining the electricity flickering between them with horrified fascination. Elemental type then. Huh. Desmond isn't sure what he expected but… not that.

There's been enough Conduits _activating_ around the city by this point that the rumours and whispers about have spread – and Kessler's people had installed the term Conduit into the public consciousness, the same way they'd done with the Plague. Elemental and psychic types are the more common ones from what Desmond has seen – fire and telekinesis. It's not that anyone has made a survey though, so who knows. Electricity though…

That's just… energy, right? That's _literally_ energy. Kessler made a champion against a Beast that generates energy – and the Beast supposedly _consumes_ energy. Desmond's kind of… failing to see the logic here.

Zeke gets a nurse, Cole's girlfriend from what Desmond had understood, and together they try to figure it out. Cole is more confused by it than they are, and they are more alarmed than he is. No one is particularly happy, and no wonder. So far… Conduits haven't exactly been a good thing for Empire City.

"There was one who – she robbed a store, just the other day," Trish explains to Cole, who has by now managed to put the lightning away. "She killed four people, and set the place on fire."

"There was another one in the Warren, the TV-jacker guy did a piece on him," Zeke says. "Strung up some people from flag poles, for… fun, I guess."

"And I'm – like those people?" Cole asks.

Zeke and Trish exchange uneasy looks – and then Desmond feels it. Kessler's mind, brushing against his own from the distance.

"Ahh, I thought I felt him awakening," Kessler murmurs in Desmond's ear.

"Hi Kessler. Fuck you," Desmond says flatly. "Die in a fire."

"Hello to you too, Desmond. How is he?"

"Confused – and so am I. Why electricity?" Desmond asks, making a face. "How is that going to help against the Beast?"

"Ah, excellent. I hoped that would be the one the Ray Sphere would latch onto," Kessler says, very pleased. "Of all the powers Cole might have, it is the one with greatest potential of growth – and the most plentiful opportunities for power drain."

"I… don't follow."

"The world runs on electricity – Cole will have no trouble charging his power up, and growing as he does," Kessler says. "The modern world is all but built to power up Cole."

Desmond grits his teeth for a moment and then blows out a breath. "And what if Cole just ends up powering the Beast up? You said the thing consumes energy, including people's energy."

"Cole will simply have to be stronger than the Beast, when it comes down to that battle," Kessler says. "So that the Beast _cannot_ consume him. Which makes these following days and weeks the most vital, don't you agree? We must aid Cole's growth."

" _We_?" Desmond asks flatly.

"It is to everyone's benefit that Cole succeeds – including _yours_ ," Kessler points out and Desmond can feel the guy in his head, using Desmond's Vision to look at Cole.

Trish is speaking, saying, "… what you do with it, that's what matters. Lot of people, they're using these abilities in terrible ways, but that's a choice, a terrible choice they've made. You can be better, Cole."

"Oh, poor dear Trish," Kessler murmurs, in a tone of terrible, pained nostalgia.

"You know her?"

"I did, once upon a time," Kessler says and hums. "It will likely take Cole a few more days to recover. After that if given choice, he will likely choose not to do anything with his new found powers – taking the path of least resistance, and trying to blend it to the background, wasting another bit of his potential in the gutters."

Desmond hums, noncommittal.

"Yes, much like you would, if given a choice," Kessler agrees, amused. "He needs a reason to fight – like you. Would you like to give him one?"

"Excuse me?" Desmond asks, incredulous. "You want me to fight Cole."

"Yes. Not that hand to hand combat will help him against the Beast, but… any reason to train is better than none." Kessler hums. "Or alternatively I might give Sasha a little… encouragement. You left her high and dry and she is still looking oh so desperately something to impress me. And I know just the thing."

"Oh for fuck's sake. What?"

"I suppose you'll see, if you decide not to take part in this," Kessler muses. "Though perhaps, the best choice would be to pursue both avenues – to give Sasha that push, to have you act as her counterpart, both of you exerting pressure on Cole, forcing his growth…"

" _Kessler_ –"

"Don't waste my time with insults, we both know what I am doing, and _for_ what," Kessler says flatly. "You know what is on the line."

Desmond grits his teeth, leaning back against the wall behind him, banging his head lightly against it in frustration. He can still see Cole with the Eagle Vision – Trish is running the guy through on what had been going on with his body since he fell unconscious. She seems a little relieved and little disturbed to now have an explanation for his miraculously healed burns – the rapid healing of a Conduit. Cole just still seems confused about it all. Poor guy.

"What did Cole do to deserve this?" Desmond asks quietly.

"When it mattered most, he did _nothing_ ," Kessler says simply. "When he could have defeated the Beast… he ran instead."

"So this time he's not even going to get that choice?"

"No, he will not."

Desmond closes his eyes and turns them away from Cole and his friends, to Kessler. The guy is sitting behind a table in an office somewhere in the Historic District, fingers crossed. Meeting his eyes over that distance, Kessler leans back, arching his brows, his eyes pale and remorseless.

"There are other ways to make someone grow stronger," Desmond points out. "Other than just threatening his life."

"None that work as fast," Kessler says, shaking his head. "And I'm afraid your Animus isn't a viable option here. Time is of the essence. So. Will you help me?"

Desmond says nothing for a moment, thinking. "What are you going to have Sasha do?" he asks.

Kessler chuckles, amused. "I'm afraid my mind is set on it now, so that's something for you to find out later," he says. "Since you decided not to take care of her, I might as well make use of her."

"She hasn't even been doing anything. All she's doing is… leaking in a pit," Desmond mutters, and switches over to her. Sasha's still there, in this half collapsed tunnel, in an enormous sinkhole that formed during the Ray Sphere explosion. She even has a throne there formed of broken concrete where she's lounging, just… oozing into the pit.

"She's collecting her tar," Kessler says, amused. "Amassing a surplus to use."

"Uh-huh. And what is she going to do with it?"

"You will soon see."

" _Fuck_ _you_."

Kessler chuckles again, almost warmly this time. "Fight Cole, Desmond," he says. "And I will give your phone network access. You can call your Assassins, deliver them your messages."

Desmond swallows, turning his eyes back to the guy. Kessler is leaning back in his chair, looking for all the world to see perfectly at ease. Fucker. "… you can do that?" Desmond asks warily. "The city is still out of power, the networks are down."

"And the phone I left you is a satellite phone," Kessler says. "Well?"

Desmond draws a breath. "Oh you fucker," he then says. "Just fight him, huh?"

"Fight him _seriously_ – without killing him, obviously," Kessler says, and makes a motion with his hand, his metal hand, almost dismissive. "Bring him down as low as you can. Give him a reason to grow. Break him if you have to – just help him."

 _Jesus_ , this guy. Desmond shudders slightly and stares up at the sky, at nothing, banging his head against the wall again. Kessler has a reason, sure, but fuck… "I'll think about it."

"Good man," Kessler says, obviously thinking it an already done deal. "Now, how are your own powers progressing? You have clearly gotten better with Clairvoyance. Anything else?"

Shaking his head, Desmond closes his eyes firmly, turning off the Eagle Vision, kicking Kessler out of his head. The guy might be a powerful telepath, but _distance_ is very much Desmond's thing in this messed up new world, and Kessler can't get in without Desmond opening himself up to it with Eagle Vision first. And fuck he seriously needs to learn how to block the guy out when he does that.

Guess Cole isn't the only one who needs to grow, huh.


	5. Chapter 5

While Cole leaves his recovery bed and moves out with Zeke, to live on a rooftop in the northern side of Neon, Desmond spends a few hours wandering around the streets, aimlessly following ancestral ghosts while trying to think of what to do. Something is for sure – he's not going to do what Kessler tells him to. No fucking way. 

But the problem is… he can see the guy's point too.

Neon is uglier at street level. There's trash piling up in every street corner, all the containers out on the streets are full. Though there are still a few cars running, most had been left wherever they had ended up running out of gas – or where they had been broken into or otherwise busted to. The streets are lined with burned, useless wrecks.

The people don't look much better, what few there are out and about. It's not just the homeless, either – there are men and women in pretty nice clothing, looking into the trash with some hope of finding something to eat. Noticeably, none of them wear any jewellery, or a nice watch. People have quickly learnt better.

There's a lot of gangs crawling out of the woodwork, intent of taking everything not nailed down.

Desmond pauses below the train tracks beside Connor and Achilles and watches as a pair of women get into a fistfight over a six pack of soda one of them had been trying to hide. Already Desmond can feel the creeping danger – and then, with a glance of Eagle Vision, see it. Couple of guys with knives, their faces covered with hoods and scarves, sidling forward from an alleyway, towards the fighting pair. 

Not red, though. Opportunists, not out right murderers, these two.

Pulling up his hood, Desmond ducks past Connor, behind a wrecked car and then sidles behind the would-be-robbers, and just as one of them pulls out his knife Desmond winds his arms around both their necks.

"How about you don't?" he murmurs and when the guy with a knife in his hand makes to whirl around to face him, Desmond tightens the metal fingers around the guy's throat. "No, really, _don't._ Drop it. You too."

"Hey, man, we were just – what if – we could give you a couple, what do you say –"

Desmond tightens his grip. "I said _drop it_."

They get the idea quickly enough and end up dropping their knives and running. While Desmond picks the knives up, the women have noticed the danger they were in and are now standing frozen like a pair of deers in headlights, staring at him as he checks the knives and pockets them.

"Split the thing in the middle and get out of the streets," Desmond tells them. "And don't get into stupid fights in the open unless you have friends – it's not safe."

"Hey, it's _my soda_ , okay, this bitch –"

Desmond clears his throat pointedly and, thankfully, they too get the idea quickly enough. The woman that was trying to steal from the other even seems a little remorseful, as she gives Desmond one of her illicitly gained cans before hurrying off, her head held low. Desmond looks after them with Eagle Vision until he's sure both get it safely out the streets and then cracks the can open.

It nearly explodes in his face, the soda spilling everywhere after being shaken so much between the two women.

Muttering curses, Desmond holds it away from himself, wincing as he watches soda leak between the plates of his artificial arm. "Great," he sighs at a memory of some street urchins of Boston and while waiting for the can to settle, checks up on Cole with a sort of Eagle Vision glance, just in case, and then stops to stare.

On the rooftop, Zeke has somehow gotten a TV functioning. While Cole sits back, trying to wrangle the electric sparks into control, Zeke is adjusting some antennae, trying to get a signal.

"... not that there's much going on," Zeke is saying. "All the local news went in the blast, the explosion took out the tower – figure that was on purpose, to keep us all in the dark. But sometimes you can catch stuff from outside, satellite, you know... though I figure we're being blocked there too."

"... People can block satellite?" Cole asks, looking to. "And you think someone _is_?"

"Hell yeah they can and hell yeah they are – the whole city's blocked, haven't got noticed? No radio, no phone, no nothing. Satellite's harder but doable with military gear," Zeke says and gives the TV a whack. "Which is why I'm no longer thinking this was terrorists – with this level of cover up, the government's gotta be involved. Now come on you piece of –"

Desmond's attention is drawn away from them by someone staring at him while slowly approaching from the side, still at a safe distance but getting close. Quickly _looking_ without turning his head, Desmond gets them in his Vision – and instantly knows way too much about them.

It's a kid – parents missing since the blast, they used to work in Historic. She'd been in school, felt the blast, and nothing had been the same for her since. The food in their fridge had ran out or spoiled a day back. She's so hungry, so thirsty – and she's staring at the soda can in Desmond's hand with desperate longing.

Fuck.

Desmond turns physically to look at the kid and she stops, frozen under his gaze. _Fucking Kessler,_ Desmond thinks as he takes a quick drink and then holds the can over to her. "There's a shelter in the crossing of Mason and 32," he says. "They got food and they take in kids. You should go there."

The kid stills at that. "I'm fine," she says, even as her heart lurches.

Desmond sighs and puts the can in her hands. "Go there, you'll be safe," he says. " _Please._ "

She quivers, grabs the can and then runs away, trying to drink and run at the same time – but she's heading towards the shelter anyway. Desmond looks after her for a bit, at how she blends among the street urchins from centuries ago and then heads away, out of the open.

On the rooftop, Zeke's gotten a signal. "Aw is a rerun – saw this one in the morning," the guy says. "Guess he set it to play on loop or something."

*What's that?" Cole asks.

"It's the TV jacker guy – Voice of Survival or whatever. He does like PSA shit."

Desmond ducks into an alleyway, while in Zeke's TV a masked guy is going on in a slightly distorted voice, "... _running out of supplies all over the city and the least you can do is pitch in if you have anything, painkillers, bandaged, hell, hard drugs. The clinics need that stuff more than you do, believe me, and government is doing fuck-all to resupply. If you can't do anything else, how about a bit of good old fashioned blood donation_ …"

Desmond looks away from the TV and around the rooftop. There are batteries there, a generator – hell, they even got what looks like a functional mini fridge and a record player. Zeke, it seems, is handy with electronics.

Desmond looks away, thoughtful. Then he pulls out his useless phone, turning it in his hand. It still has no signal, but since Kessler said that there was a way to get it on the network… yeah. There has to be a sweet spot there, where the signal jammers would let a specific connection through.

Maybe Zeke could hack it – or boost it, or hell, point Desmond the way someone else could do it, some way he could get a signal out. Anything would be better than waiting for Kessler to grant him access.

Although, if it came down to Desmond having to fight Cole… going to Zeke might make things a bit awkward...

"Shit," Desmond murmurs and puts the phone away. "Fuck it – and fuck you Kessler."

For once there's no answer. Small mercies.

* * *

Desmond waits until Zeke goes on a grocery run before approaching the guy, just in case – while Cole is back on the rooftop, resting after another bout of trying not to electrify everything. Zeke's got a good thing going on, from what Desmond had seen – the guy has been trading expertise and batteries for food and supplies, helping people charge their phones and other devices. There are people better off out there – Zeke and Cole live on a _rooftop_ after all – but there's definitely better worse off.

Zeke also knows and interacts with a lot of people easily and with casual friendliness, which makes approaching him easy. 

"Oh hey – you're that guy from the – yeah, Desmond, right?" Zeke asks without Desmond even having to say anything. "Remember that arm from anywhere – how are you doing, man?"

"Been better, been worse. Hey Zeke," Desmond says. "I, uh, heard you could do like… repair stuff, in electronics?"

"I admit a slight proficiency, yes," Zeke says, rocking back and forth in his feet smugly and then looks him up and down. "The arm?"

Desmond blinks and looks down. "... Actually yeah, that too – I, uh, spilled some soda and haven't been able to get all of it out, and then it dried and the hand's gotten a bit stiff. But actually I have another thing too. You know anything about satellite phones?"

"Hmm, not exactly my area of expertise, but if it's battery issue –"

"No, the signal – I know there's a signal that works, but the phone got nothing saved on it, no signals, no numbers, nothing. I was hoping you knew how to make the thing search for network connection or something?"

Zeke looks at him interestedly. "You know there's a signal that works?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and doesn't elaborate.

"Okay. Well, l can maybe do something for you, but I don't work pro bono, my friend – what's in it for me?"

Desmond ends up trading the bulletless gun he'd taken from one of the thugs he'd killed a day back – to not much gain. Zeke can't do anything about the phone.

"This is military – you steal it from someone? Yeah I figured. No, the signals this one uses are going to be encrypted to high heavens. Now, I'm good, but I'm not that good," Zeke says and hands the phone back over. "Sorry, buddy, no dice there. You need a proper hacker more specialised to this stuff to crack this baby open."

"Well. Damn. Thanks anyway."

"Yeah. Now let's look at the arm – where's the battery on the thing? Better we unhook it before I go poking at any servos inside – wouldn't want to cause a short…"

Desmond watches Zeke curiously but pretty skillfully clean the insides of his hand, marvelling at how it was put together. While Desmond himself still isn't sure about the arm, Zeke definitely seems to appreciate the thing.

"This is some proper cyperpunk shit. Look this – phew. Must've cost a fortune," Zeke says, while using a piece of toilet paper to scrub the gears clean. "And all metal too – man. I bet this thing can take a _beating._ "

"Yeah, you have no idea – just not soda, apparently." Desmond sighs as Zeke puts the gear back in its place, screwing all the little screws in. Carefully Desmond flexes his fingers, while beside him an Assassin from centuries past tests out a hidden blade, almost like to rub in the fact that he doesn't have one. Dick. "This feels much better already, Zeke. Thanks."

"No problem man – it was a pleasure doing business with you," Zeke grins and puts all the plates back in. "If it acts up again feel free to come in for a bit of service – might throw you a discount, if the gun works."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Zeke."

Later that day, after Zeke has acquired some ammunition for the thing, the gun ends up exploding in Cole's hands, as the guy accidentally uses electricity on it, and ignites the gunpowder in the bullets. Desmond watches the whole thing happen and shakes his head. Live and learn.

* * *

Sasha is starting to move. While Cole rests and Desmond tries to figure out what to do, she approaches one of the many gangs running rampant in the streets of Neon, coming to them with swinging hips and barely a shred of clothing on her, promising them impossible things.

Desmond watches the whole thing from afar, wary and wondering, as she winds her overly long and sharp pinkie around them, huskily whispering, "Don't you want to be a Conduit too?"

By now the power struggles around Neon – probably around the whole city, really – have become regular things, enough so that people know which way the wind blows. Conduits win every fight nine times out of ten, and usually with collateral damage to boot. There's a whole group of them growing in the Warren and the First Sons are moving in the Historic…

And Sasha seems to be aiming to take charge of Neon.

 _Well now! Hello, darling,_ she croons in Desmond's head while all but putting a leash on the leader of the Reapers. _You do like to watch, don't you? Don't you know spying is rude? You peeping tom. Watch this._

Taking the Reaper leader's head between her hands, Sasha forces the slimiest kiss on the guy, pouring her tar down the man's throat, making his choke on it. While Desmond watches, some half a mile distant and helpless to stop it, Sasha fills the man up with her tar and then leans back with a happy moan, running her fingers over her stained lips as the guy goes down, choking and sputtering.

And _changing._

The guy's skin blackens starting from his mouth and crawling all over his face, his eyes go wide, bloodshot, red. For a moment he just sits there on his knees, choking and sputtering as the tar changes him, and then he's… still.

The noise that escapes his mouth is little more than animalistic snarl.

 _Lovely, isn't he? He serves me now, loves me, and he will until his death_ , Sasha croons, stroking her fingers over the Reapers face. _No distractions, no other desires – just me, there's nothing but me, now. Oh darling, this could have been us, if you had just let me in._

Desmond says nothing, shaking his head with disgust. So that's what Kessler was planning – create a whole enemy faction to throw at his champion. Great, that's just great.

 _Kessler has nothing to do with this!_ Sasha snarls. _That man, he wasted his chance, he wasted everything! I will never again do what he wants! I will fill this city with my beloved and I will crash Kessler's plans to the ground – I will bend you to my will, you and lovely young Cole, and everything else Kessler loves and once everything he treasures worships me… I might let him beg for mercy._

 _Yeah. Kessler is totally not pulling your strings. You just keep telling yourself that,_ Desmond answers and stands up. He has to stop this – has to get and cut her down before she can do this shit to any more people –

Sasha laughs. _I would certainly love to see you try!_ she crows and then she… vanishes. _Catch me if you can, sweetheart – if you can find me, I'm all yours..._

Desmond blinks and then tries again – but where before he could find Sasha just by looking, now his Eagle Vision slides off her, and he ends up looking at a completely random woman doing dishes with a dry rag, trying to preserve water. Trying to look at Sasha again, Desmond gets his vision thrown off and half across the town, to Warren, where some old man with a cane is helping a homeless woman stand up. The old man looks up with a scowl and Desmond tries again, aiming even _harder_ at Sasha

It leaves him staring at Kessler.

"Hmm?" the man asks, looking up from a set of x-rays. "What is it, Desmond? Have you made your decision?"

"I – no, fuck you. What did you do to Sasha – I can't see her anymore?" Desmond asks.

"Oh, that's not my doing. She's a powerful telepath, much stronger than I am," Kessler says and looks back down at the x-rays. "And the Ray Sphere has only made her more so."

"Damnit," Desmond mutters. "You know what she's doing?"

Kessler smiles. "Yes. Insidious, isn't it? In a way it's all thanks to you – you did decide to let her be, when you had the chance to –"

"No, seriously Kessler, _fuck you,_ " Desmond snaps. "This is your doing, not mine."

"And you still choose to do nothing – you are choosing to do nothing right now. Instead of going after her, you're here, talking to me –"

" _Fuck,_ " Desmond hisses and closes the connection, taking off to the direction where Sasha had been last, where she'd been meeting with the Reapers. It's not close and he's got little hope of making it there before she'd be gone, but _maybe…_

But no. She's gone and so are the Reapers, all of them – the whole gang of some thirty guys and girls are all gone, leaving behind not only a perfectly good hideout, but a whole lot of stolen valuables too – including food, water, drugs, stolen jewellery, phones… Apparently a woman with mind control powers didn't have use for any of it. 

Desmond pokes around the hideout and then sits in the middle of it, watching hideouts of days long gone try to superimpose themselves over the warehouse, as novices from those times appear to populate the corners. He can almost hear them, murmuring. _Mentor._

Shaking his head at them, Desmond considers what to do. Sasha might take them to the Jefferson tunnel where her pit of tar is, he might be able to find them there, but… then what? Desmond fought Sasha once and it nearly ended with him under her thrall too. Now she has minions. Round two would only go worse unless Desmond managed to prepare better. All he has is a couple of knives and a gun that did nothing against Sasha the last time.

The ghosts kind of have a point. A proper Assassin hideout would come in handy right about now – with a proper armoury. Desmond needs weapons, better weapons. Bombs if nothing else. A flame thrower maybe. Is the tar flammable? Somehow Desmond doubts it. So, what would work against a woman that's impervious against impact, fire, blades…? Freezing? Yeah, just take a bunch of co2 fire extinguishers and go to town on a few dozen tons of tar, Scoopy Doo style.

Desmond tugs at his metal hand and thinks wryly that lightning would probably do something. Problem is, Cole can barely produce sparks at will. As he is, Sasha would eat the guy up.

Fucking Kessler, it's almost brilliant, what the guy is doing. Asshole.

But maybe there's another way to stop Sasha. Desmond can't fight her directly, but maybe there's an indirect way to go about it, maybe he can keep her from getting to more people. He would need to be fast about it, but how...

Desmond looks down at his hands and then looks up at the ghosts, thinking – and his eyes land on a darkened LED screen, which would usually be showing advertisements but it's currently dark.

Zeke isn't the only one with a working TV – there's others with generators, few store fronts that still have TVs going thanks to solar panels on rooftops and stuff like that. There's not many of them, but the Voice of Survival still has enough of an audience to make his broadcasts worth it. And definitely more people would listen to him than to just some random guy on the streets. 

And who knows – maybe a guy known for jacking tv signals would know a thing or two about satellite phones.


	6. Chapter 6

The Voice of Survival is stationed in the Historic District, which makes getting to him a bit harder – and unlike Kessler and Sasha, the guy isn't a Conduit – so when Desmond finds him and watches him with the Eagle Vision, the guy is blissfully unaware of the observation.

The guy has an interesting set up. He's taken over a floor in one of the nearly but not completely destroyed buildings, commandeering a lot of semi trashed looking technology. When the tower that served as the headquarters for the local Empire City News had come down in the blast, the many satellite dishes and antenna on the rooftop had gotten scattered around – and it looks like the Voice of Survival had collected them and patched them up, disguising them in the rubble of his building's rooftop while setting up a pretty respectable array for broadcasting. He also has a studio cobbled together from various computers and screens, lot of them showing little more than static but since of them showing actual TV stations.

The guy is, intermittently, getting through the jammers, and every snippet of news he catches from the outside he records, and if it's in any way usable for the people of Empire City he regurgitates it to them through his jacked up broadcasts.

"Fuck, another one," the guy mutters, tugging frustratedly at his hair. On a frozen frame a headline of a broadcast reads … _declined another offer of international aid_ … "Useless pieces of shit, can't get anything fucking done…"

Desmond watches the guy for a while, eying his conspiracy wall of screens and post it notes at a distance – it looks like the guy has figured out that there's something pretty bad going on behind the scenes. He catches the guy recording another broadcast of, _"If you're holding out hope of the government swooping in to save us, I'd say stop now before you choke – they just blocked another bit of aid from the international community. I think it's safe to say we're going to have to ride this one out on our own, folks…"_ before leaving him to it and going about figuring out how to actually get to him.

The broken bridge between Neon and Historic had been lifted for _safety reasons_ and someone had done the same with the Warren – and with Sasha in the Jefferson tunnel, that's no go. Which leaves swimming or finding a boat – which offers its own challenge. All the boats in Empire City had conveniently burned, sank or just disappeared when the quarantine had begun.

Well, all the boats that were in the harbour anyway.

Desmond spends four hours first commandeering a functional truck from the side of a road, then breaking into a hardware store and stealing some of their merchandise – namely, a rowboat and a motor – and then trying to drive them into the shore without too many people noticing. A lot of people still notice – too many.

"Are you leaving – are you breaking quarantine?"

"Take me with you! I can't stay here, I have to get out of here!"

"Please, I can't stay here, my family –!"

"I'll give you anything!"

"I'm just going to the Historic District and no, I'm not breaking quarantine," Desmond says while fitting the motor in. "You want to try to run the blockage and get yourself killed, be my guest, there's a bunch of boats at the store – go nuts. Just so you know, they got gunboats patrolling the bay and they _will_ shoot you down."

Couple of guys make a go at his boat and it ends in a brief, wet scuffle in the shoreline, with Desmond knocking both of them into the water and pulling hos gun on the others.

"If there's anyone who wants to go to Historic, I can give you a ride," he says. "But that's it. And trust me – things are way worse there."

He's not particularly surprised to not get many takers.

"My mother is there," the only one who takes him up on it explains. "I think – she lives outside the blast zone. Unless something happened…"

Desmond considers offering to check with Eagle Vision, save the guy the trip, but… some things you have to find out for yourself, really. So he just nods and with the crowd finally, begrudgingly giving way, they get on the boat.

It's an eerie trip over the quiet, still waters. Power is out in the Historic District too, and everything is just dark everywhere you look. Even the sky is dark. Desmond gets his creepiest, cooled bit of Bleeding Effect to date in that earned, as a silent Aquila slides over the water just ahead of them like some kind of ghost ship, impossibly large when from near the waterline. It passes quickly and quietly, and Desmond is almost disappointed – as hallucinations go, that one was pretty epic.

"You know, I've never seen the stars, not before the blast knocked out the power," Desmond's rather wretched passenger murmurs, almost making him jump. "No light pollution. It's – weird, huh?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, glancing up.

"Almost a good thing," the guy says. "But it came from such a shitty thing that it seems just… wrong, you know? Like it's forbidden. Like we're not supposed to get to enjoy it."

Desmond considers the sky, the streak of the Milky Way overhead. "I say screw that. Enjoy it while you can," he says and looks down. "Situation is crappy enough without you denying yourself small pleasures." Like enjoying cool hallucinations, on occasion.

His passenger says nothing to that, and they make the rest of the trip over in near silence, only water and the engine making any noise. Desmond shuts it off as they get closer and switches over to using the oars.

"There's people on the shoreline," he explains quietly while dipping the oars into water, trying not to make too much noise.. "Heard the engine and are probably looking to rob us. Let's avoid that."

"Yeah," his passenger agrees, shrinking where he sits, making himself small.

They make it to the shore without being spotted, hiding under a piece of broken pier, which Desmond hopes will camouflage the boat a little. His passenger gets off with a nod and a quiet thanks and Desmond hums in answer. "I don't know how long I will take – do you need a way back?"

"No. I figure I'll stay here either way."

"Alright. Good luck, man, I hope your mother is okay."

"Yeah… yeah me too," the guy agrees, waves his hand, and then heads away, his head held low as he goes.

With the passenger on his way and the boat secured, Desmond checks on the Voice of Survival, and starts making his way towards the guy.

It's a climb and a half to get to him. The stairs in his building have probably intentionally been destroyed and if there's some secret path up, Desmond can't find it, nor does he particularly feel like spending time looking. So he takes the building by its least visible side and begins climbing.

He can _feel_ all the Conduits in the district, dozens and dozens of them, and he'd really rather get this over with as quickly as he could, before any of them noticed him and reported back to Kessler.

He ends up getting into the building by the roof, sliding through the scrap and concrete and carefully disguised broadcasting gear, not particularly surprised to find Altaïr already there. Now that Desmond is doing a lot more climbing, he's starting to sense a pattern – the higher the building, the bigger the chance for Altaïr to appear. Well, some consistency is appreciated

There's a ladder amidst the rubble that leads down to the Voice of Survival's den, and that's where the guy himself is, working on trying to decrypt something. Desmond crouches beside the ladder, considering how to do this without getting shot in the face for it. The guy down there is armed – and pretty damn paranoid to boot. He would probably shoot at the first sound of… anything. Hmm.

In the end, Desmond drops a piece of concrete down the ladder, and watches with Eagle Vision how the guy here whirls to his feet and grabs for the gun.

"I come in peace," Desmond calls down, carefully getting out of sight. "I just want your help – I can trade for it."

The Voice of Survival doesn't answer, reaching for something, a switch. Desmond frowns and follows the wires with his Vision – there's a trap on the rooftop, which would fire a lot of electricity through anyone anywhere near the ladder.

"It won't work, I'm not close enough for your trap to hit me, you'll just end up wasting electricity," Desmond says even while quickly shuffling back to a safe distance. "I'm really not here to do you any harm – I even have information for you. Would it help if I threw you my gun?"

"... It's a start. How fuck do you know about my trap?!"

"I'm a Conduit – I can see it."

"... fuck," the Voice of Survival mutters and Desmond tilts his head, watching the guy think, watching him move into cover. "Okay – throw down your weapons and when I tell you to, you can come down – just keep your hands where I can see them."

While the guy prepares, Desmond takes out his gun and a couple of his by now growing collection of stolen knives and throws them down the ladder. The Voice of Survival waits for a moment before going to grab them, quickly backing away behind cover again, his gun trained on the ladder.

"Alright, you can come down – but don't you fucking try anything, I will put a bullet in you if you do."

"I've no doubt," Desmond murmurs and then drops down, carefully keeping his distance to any metal surfaces. He quickly lifts up his hands. "Don't shoot, I'm unarmed."

"Bullshit," the Voice of Survival says, his gun aimed at Desmond's chest. "The fuck is that?"

"It's my arm. It's a prosthetic."

"Looks like some kind of cyberpunk shit."

Desmond hums wiggling his fingers. "It is some cyberpunk shit," he agrees. "But I'm not going to do anything with it, okay? I just want to talk and your help, if you're willing to trade for it."

"Like what?"

"I got a satellite phone and reasonable assumption that there's an unblocked frequency it can use – I got it from the people behind this mess and they implied it was usable," Desmond says. "I'm hoping you can help me unlock it. I also have a warning to people in Neon about some shit that's happening in there and you're the best chance of getting the word out."

The Voice of Survival narrows his eyes. "What?"

"There's a Conduit with mind control powers who's recruiting people in the Neon into her personal army and she doesn't need them to be particularly willing," Desmond says, still holding his hands up. "She already took over a gang called the Reapers, turned them into her slaves. The people should be warned."

For a moment the Voice of Survival is quiet, just eyeing him over the barrel of his gun. "Shit, you're that guy, the – the white hood guy from Neon. You go around killing people."

Ezio is behind the guy now, eying something in the darkened corner. A painting maybe?

"Murderers," Desmond says quietly, carefully not looking at the hallucination. "I only kill murderers. The rest get off with a warning."

"And how the hell do you know who's a murderer? You do some detective shit or something – like some sort of murderous Batman?"

Desmond relaxes a little as Ezio moves on, disappearing into the shadows of the corner. "When you kill someone, it shows – and I have a power that lets me see it."

The guy narrows his eyes. "And that's hundred percent right, is it? Can you prove it?"

"Not really sure how I can," Desmond admits with a shrug. "I know you haven't killed anyone if that helps."

The Voice of Survival hesitates and then stands up, gun still trained in Desmond. "Stay right there," he says and goes to his computers, shuffling quickly through some files and then bringing up on the scene a collection about twenty photos, men, women of varying ages and ethnicities. "Right. Which one of these guys are killers, then?"

Desmond hums. "Are they in Empire City?"

"Some of them."

"I can't see outside Empire City. And if they're dead I won't be able to tell – dead people don't have auras."

"Motherfucking _auras,_ right, okay," the Voice of Survival mutters and then types something, changing the selection of pictures. "Okay, these ones – all in Empire City, all alive as far as I know. Go."

It takes a while. Desmond can't tell what someone's been up to by photo alone – he has to find them first, the actual living people, with Eagle Vision and _then_ he can tell. At last the photos let him do that – though it makes Desmond really wonder for real how it actually works. Sense of self tied to one's looks and appearance, maybe, which the Eagle Vision can now latch on to?

Four of the people on the screens have blood in their hands – two are dead and one is… "I think that picture is wrong, somehow," Desmond says, pointing at one of them. "I can find someone, but the person sort of… rejects it."

The Voice of Survival arched a brow. "You can _find_ them? Right, right…" Quickly he brings up another picture, a woman this time, whom Desmond can find. The Voice of Survival whistles, the gun sitting forgotten on the desk now. "Damn. You can just tell where all of these people are, what they're doing? You realise how fucking _useful_ that is?"

Desmond hums. "That's not what I'm here for," he says.

The guy glances at him and then grabs for the gun again. "Right, right – what do you want?"

Desmond slowly takes out the phone. "Can you figure out the right signal this will work with?"

"You… don't know how these things work, do you?"

"Nope," Desmond admits. "But I do know there's a way to make it work – I know there's a frequency out there that's getting through the jammers. And this phone could use it.. Can you make it work?"

The Voice of Survival tinkers with the phone for a moment and then frowns. "Jesus this thing is _advanced_ – where did you get this?"

Desmond shrugs.

"No, man, seriously – this thing is way beyond anything that's on the market, this is some fucking futuristic shit – the camera can see infra red, there's a Geiger counter in this thing – where did you get it?" the Voice of Survival demands.

Desmond sighs. "Can you figure how to get a signal?" he asks.

The Voice of Survival flips the phone in his fingers, nervous and agitated. "Maybe – brute forcing it might work, put the phone running through frequencies until it hits the right one... but chances are whatever it is, it's going to be encrypted. I can try, but if you got this from people with access to stuff like this, I doubt they'll leave their satellites unsecured. You're going to need a password, probably – and I don't think it'll be as simple as _password,_ you know what I mean."

Desmond opens his mouth and then sighs. "Okay, I… won't get my hopes up," he says. "But please try."

"I can do that, yeah," the Voice of Survival agrees. "It might take a while."

"I'll wait."

"Right," the guy says, clearing his throat. "Right – you said you had something to trade?"

"You're all about information, right? Anything you want to know that my power can help find, within limits," Desmond says. "Also when the Reapers got mind controlled that left behind a lot of crap – a lot of valuables. I can get it to you, if you want it."

"I don't," the Voice of Survival says, considering and then turning to his computers. "You kill killers, right? How about other crimes?"

"Depends on the crime," Desmond says slowly, looking up at the screens as three pictures come up. One of them is from the previous lineup. "Hmm?"

"Arsonist," the voice of Survival says, pointing at the first one. "He'd been setting cars and shit on fire ever since the blast and I think he caused the deaths of at least a couple, but I can't be sure," he points to another picture. "This guy definitely killed at least two girls and brutalised three others.. He was a bastard before the blast and I don't think he's been sitting idle since." The Voice of Survival flips the image bird and then points to the last one. "And she's a human trafficker – the crap she's done would get her a life in prison if she ever got caught. I'm pretty sure she's in Empire City, and probably up to some shit too."

Desmond hums and then concretes, checking. "She is," he agrees. And she glows red. "So you want me to find and kill these people."

"It'd be a service to the world, trust me. Also, bonus round," he opens two more pictures. "These assholes are _confiscating_ what little goods are being sent into Empire City, getting them from the bridge and then supposedly distributing them around the city – only for them to show up in the black market at a thousand percent markup. There's a lot of people starving because of them and the military and the cops don't give a flying fuck."

Desmond nods slowly, eyeing the pictures and pressing the people into his memory, into his ever expanding mental map of Empire City. "Alright," he says. "I think I can take care of them."

"You do and I'll get you a line to the outside world, one way or the other," the Voice of Survival agrees and sits down, flicking the safety on his gun and shoving it under his belt. "But what about that Conduit in Neon? Couldn't kill her?"

"... No, I couldn't. And she's a telepath and knows I'm after her – she's hiding from my Vision," Desmond says, waving a hand beside his eye. "I'm hoping to keep her from being able to amass so many people to her side before I can figure out how to take her down."

"So you want to warm people to stay alert," The Voice of Survival muses. "Right, I can get behind that. What can you tell me about her?"

The speed with which the guy puts together a broadcast about Sasha is pretty impressive – but then, it's not like there's a lot to it. Desmond ends up with a front row seat, watching as the Voice of Survival gets in front of a camera with a green screen behind him and a scarf and a set of reflective sunglasses on to hide his face. It's kind of impressive how quickly the guy just gets into the action.

"I just got word that there's some half naked chick oozing black tar who's taking people in the Neon District – a Conduit if I ever heard of one. Word has it she's already taken out the whole fucking Reaper gang, turning them over to her side with some kind of mind control powers – and she's probably looking for more, building a whole army of mind controlled thugs. So if you see any black smears or a chick with some kinda goo leaking outta her, you go the other direction as fast as you fucking can. Generally a good idea not to touch anyone that's _oozing_ anything, really. I'll let you know when I know more. Voice of Survival, out."

Desmond arches his brow and then gives a clap as the Voice of Survival ends the broadcast. "That was short and… well I wouldn't call it _sweet_ exactly," he comments. "But it was certainly something."

"Swearing gets people's attention. It's more genuine that way," the Voice says, tinkering with the camera and then turning to him. "So a Conduit, huh? You got your powers from the Blast, same as the goo chick? Do you know why that happened?"

And that's his que to leave. Desmond stands up. "What say you I go deal with your targets and you get me a working phone, hm?"

The Voice's eyes widen. "You know – you fucking _know_ what happened, you know who's behind the Blast!"

Desmond moves to the ladder. "I'll catch up with you once I'm done."

"Asshole – if you know something, say so! The people have to right fucking know why this happened!" The Voice shouts after him. "The government is behind it, right? This is some sort of goddamn experiment, right?! Come _on_ man –"

Desmond slips out of the guy's hiding place, calling, "Get that phone working!" and then making his way to the edge before the guy can climb up after him.

Leaping off the building almost makes him feel better about the things he's covering up for. Almost… but not really.

Well, at least there's some deserving people to take his frustrations out on. He's setting out to do some actual assassinations. And all he had to do to get here was get completely isolated from the Assassin Brotherhood. Who would've thought.


	7. Chapter 7

The first of his three assassination targets Desmond takes out within the first hour. It's the arsonist guy and he's hanging around a small square, just sitting there, watching people, not doing anything suspicious. If it wasn't for the red glow around him, and for what the Voice of Survival had told him, Desmond wouldn't have thought there was anything unusual about him. Just some old guy people watching.

Desmond walks behind him, sticks a knife between his ribs and moves in before the guy has the time to realise someone had just killed him. He can hear the thud of the arsonist falling over as he moves on, over the street and behind the nearest corner where he cleans his knife and watches people not care overly much about the dead guy in their midst.

The quarantine really has made them all pretty numb to death, huh.

The next target he picks is by location – the human trafficker woman is just closer, also in the Historic District. She's harder to get to, though – she'd commandeered a derelict warehouse by the harbour and has some people with guns working for her, which makes things a bit trickier. Desmond watches the place for a bit, wondering – peering through shipping crates at the barely livable _housing_ they hide. It must be how she moved people around for whatever purposes she traffics people for – and even at a distance Desmond can feel the blood soaking the containers. It soaking the woman too.

It must strike a chord because as Desmond looks for an opening to get at the office where the woman herself is hoped away in, Altaïr is steady at his side, barely budging. The duration of the hallucination bordering on worrisome and Desmond ends up counting it – it's 47 seconds before it passes. He tries to take comfort in the ghostly company, though – as opposed to freaking out about the bleeding effect probably getting worse again. He's got enough to freak out about as it is.

Desmond ends up making a diversion by breaking a couple of windows and shouting "It's the feds!" and waiting for the woman to step out to investigate. She dies with a knife embedded in her chest, thrown from above, and she's not the only one he kills – most of the people working for her have blood in their hands too. The rest wisen up pretty quickly after a few deaths and decide not to stick around.

Desmond goes through the place, just in case they are holding people somewhere else, but it looks like the operation is between _shipments_. Desmond gets all the paperwork that looks important – and which gleams under Eagle Vision – and then cleans the place from everything useful.

Then, with more bullets, an assault rifle and stuff he thinks he could maybe use to make smoke bombs under his belt, Desmond heads for his boat, to make his way to the Warren for the last target. 

He's halfway between the island when something _pings_ his senses. Lifting his head, Desmond quickly checks up on Cole – fine, drinking beer with Zeke and watching some old western on the TV. Sasha is still hidden and his Vision slides off her like water of duck's back. Kessler –

"There you are."

Kessler is standing in the hideout of the Voice of Survival, two masked members of First Sons there to accompany him – and one of them has the Voice on his knees, with a rifle barrel aimed at the back of the guy's head.

Kessler meets Desmond's eyes over the distance and slowly Desmond reaches over and kills the boat's motor. "Kessler," he says tightly. "What _now_?"

"Your little broadcast," Kessler explains flatly, while the Voice of Survival gives him a wide eyed look. "It went out to the whole city. Did you really think I wouldn't wouldn't see it, that I wouldn't know it was you behind it?"

"... Fuck," Desmond murmurs and sits back down with sigh. "Don't do this, man. The guy just did what I asked him to."

"Yes, and now you're doing what _he_ asked, as opposed to what _I_ wanted you to do," Kessler says, glancing at the Voice. "I would take it personally but I suppose a leopard can't change it's spots and fundamentally you're still trying to do the _right thing_. Which is admirable – but it's not what's _necessary_. And you know it."

Running a hand over his face, Desmond sits still for a moment, the boat bobbing quietly beneath him. Around him the water is so still that it's reflecting the starry sky. The silence is unnerving. "What do you want, Kessler?"

"You know what I want. For you to stop wasting _time_ on unrelated, pointless things," Kessler snaps, glaring at him, his eyes so bright they're actually glowing. "And _do as I ask_. It's not that hard."

Desmond grits his teeth and hangs his head. Fuck. 

Kessler hums, looking at the Voice of Survival. "I'm not beyond putting pressure on you – and believe me, I will find a way if I have to. If this will not do, then how about five civilians, how about ten, twenty, fifty, hundred? How many innocent deaths can you bear the burden of until you do as you're told? Because I can do it and I will not feel remorse. Will you?" Kessler turns to his soldiers, lifting a hand for a signal. "Time to choose."

" _Fuck you_ – no, shit, wait!" Desmond shouts before Kessler can give the order to fire. "Fuck – I'll do it, okay, I'll do it – don't hurt the Voice, or anyone else. Don't kill him. I'll do it."

Kessler peers at him, peers into him, into his head. "Good," he then says with grim satisfaction and motions his men to stand down. "But he will be watched from here on out – and if you decide the stall again, there will be consequences."

Desmond mutters a curse, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

Kessler gives him an impatient look. "Go and _attack_ him – right now. And every day until he gets stronger."

Every day? _Jesus._ "And if one of us dies in the process?" Desmond asks incredulously.

"Well, it better not be _him_."

Drawing slow breaths, in and out, trying to wrangle the sudden, white hot fury and helplessness he feels, Desmond opens his eyes again. It's to find fucking Haytham is sitting on his boat, peering over the dark water, looking for something in the near pitch black darkness.

Without thinking, Desmond takes the nearest oar and waves it through the spectre in sheer fucking frustration. Once it's gone, he drops the oar and nods tightly at Kessler. "I'll do it now. Just – leave the Voice alone."

"I will – once you have done as you're told," Kessler says and pulls up the Voice's ratty office chair, sitting down on it with apparently no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. "Now go."

Desmond turns the engine back on and turns the boat towards the Neon District. "When Cole kills you, I will fucking cheer him on," Desmond mutters and pulls up his hood.

"Then you had better make sure he's capable of it," Kessler answers, utterly unimpressed with him. "Now get a move on. I'm a busy man and I have important work I am neglecting because of this and you'll find I have very little patience left for your antics."

Asshole.

* * *

Cole isn't ready to fight. Desmond has been keeping an eye on the guy and the most he can do is shoot small, pretty weak blasts of electricity. Come had even shot one accidentally at Zeke and aside from giving the guy a fright of his life it hadn't done much damage. The guy is not ready to toe to toe with powers.

Probably a good thing that Desmond doesn't have powers like that anyway. Still, Desmond isn't sure the guy is ready to be attached by an Assassin either – though Cole does look a bit rough around the edges, he's not a fighter.

But then... that's the point in attacking, isn't it? Making him into a fighter. As much as Desmond hates it, as much as it grates, he can see Kessler's point, he can even understand the guy's impatience. In a small way Desmond even feels guilty for stalling, maybe things hadn't come to head if he hadn't… but no. Fuck Kessler and fuck his methods.

The first thing Desmond does when he manages to climb the rooftop where Zeke and Cole live is say, where the pair are half drunk and half asleep and completely unprepared, is say "I'm really fucking sorry about this, I'm not doing this on my own volition."

It's the one warning he gives the pair on the couch, before taking out a knife and going at them.

It's tricky, making it fast enough to be a legitimate threat but slow enough that they have time to reach. Zeke is slow, barely manages to get up in time – Cole is slightly faster and far sloppier, stumbling out of the way and into a loose roll. Desmond stabs the couch to make his point. 

"Jesus Christ on a bogo stick – what the ever loving –"

Ignoring Zeke, Desmond vaults over it to go after Cole. There's so many openings, he could kill the man with one good hit – so Desmond puts the knife away and goes for a far safer kick. Cole manages to roll with it, and Desmond avoids hitting anything vital – but it definitely makes a point.

The sound the guy lets out feels a bit like someone punching Desmond in the gut.

"Get off him, you son of a –"

Zeke tries to grab him from behind and Desmond does his best not to crush the guy's trachea, just to get him out of the way. Zeke stumbles back with a croak, gasping for breath, and Desmond glances at him to make sure he'd be fine – and that's when Cole grabs for his ankle and tries to trip him, twisting. It's a good try, but he puts too much of his attention and all of his body into it.

Desmond breaks his airway sloppy concentration with a punch to the side of the head, just hard enough to disorient him and steps back enough to give the guy another kick. Adrenaline must be kicking in now – Cole handles better, almost manages to roll away, onto his hands and knees.

Desmond gives him the time to stand up, to put up his first, before going at him again. And yeah, he was right – Cole isn't much of a fighter. Whatever he's trying to do, there's no firm to it, no actual training – he has maybe gotten into fights before, he knows enough to protect his face, his throat, but his arms are too loose and too high.

"Who the hell are you?" Cole asks while Desmond privately despairs for his utter lack of form. "Why are you doing this?"

"I don't have a choice," Desmond says apologetically. "I'm here to teach you a lesson."

He delivers it with a quick jab to the guys diaphragm, watching as breath escapes the guy in a painted explosion. "You're wide open," Desmond tells the guy, kinda hating himself for using fucking movie clichés, no matter how true. "Out in the open and utterly defenceless. Zeke, stay down, or the next one is going to knock you unconscious."

Still coughing Zeke spits out, "Fuck you, man," and throws an empty beer bottle, aiming for Desmond head. It's so wide off that Desmond doesn't bother moving. "Get the fuck away from our rooftop!"

Desmond looks at Cole, then sweeps the guys feet from under him and while Cole is distracted by crashing into the rooftop, Desmond goes for Zeke.

Alarmed, the guy stumbles back, his foot landing on an empty pizza box. He slips, falls on his ass, and gets his sun glasses knocked off. "Hey – I know you," he says, his eyes widening as he stares up at Desmond's face. "You're –"

A quick blow to the side of the temple, and the guy crumples to the floor.

"Zeke!" Cole shouts, scrambling to his feet. "You son of a bitch – get away from him!"

Starting to feel more than a little like a bully, Desmond dances away from Cole's wild attack, grabs the guy's wrist with his flesh hand and then spins him around, throwing him to the floor beside Zeke, before pinning him down, face down on the concrete.

"Now would be a good time for a little bit of lightning," Desmond comments even while feeling sick to his stomach. "How about it?"

Cole writhes under him, kicking and trying to hit him with his free elbow, but he doesn't have the reach. Shouting in anger, the guy grinds his forehead against the floor and there's a spark, just a flicker at first but then something stronger – a proper current, running through the guy's arm. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

Desmond does and it's only half voluntary – the shock he gets from touching the guys arm with electricity running through it is like touching live wire, it makes his hand spasm and Desmond can feel it in his _chest_. Cole doesn't waste his chance and he doesn't try to do anything fancy – he just twists to his back and does his best to give Desmond a face full of lightning. He almost succeeds too.

"Better," Desmond says, quickly backing away, shaking some feeling back into his fingers. "Much better. Now let's try this again, shall we?"

"I'm going to kick your ass," Cole growls, jumping back to his feet. "Who are you?"

Desmond hums, waits until the man is steady, and then attacks him again.

Lightning doesn't improve Cole's form or his skills, but it definitely makes things more interesting. The electricity flickers around both of his arms now like a wall of sparks and he learned quickly enough from the first jab – he'd protecting his belly now. Desmond does a few jabs to test his defense, getting a few good hits in, but yeah, Cole is learning.

But so is Desmond – and not just things like what the guy's reach is and where he's weak, but the fact that the arm Kessler gave Desmond is pretty much impervious to the electricity. Whether it grounds it or drains it or what, Desmond isn't sure – what he does know is that he can block an electrically charged punch with his metal hand and not get shocked.

Fuck if he will ever thank Kessler for it, though.

Cole is figuring that out too, going for his other side instead. He's a fast learner, definitely, he's starting to almost get punched in. He's definitely been in fights before, if nothing else, and he's adaptive. It would be almost gratifying, if it was in a different circumstance.

Trying to up the ante a little, Desmond steps back and leaves himself wide open, just to see what the guy would do. Without a pause Cole comes at him with fists flying. Ducking under the first hit and parrying the next to the side Cole is leaving open, Desmond delivers a couple of good hits on the guy's waist before moving away again, putting a little distance in between them, and leaving himself open again.

And _again_ Cole follows with his fists.

Right.

Desmond considers it before taking Cole's attack head on, fainting to the left and then grabbing Cole by a non-electrified part of his right shoulder and just vaulting over him, kicking him and probably pissing the guy off even more in the process. Couple of tumbles like that and he has one furious Conduit in his hands.

"What the fuck do you want?!" Cole shouts at him.

"For you to show me something _new_ ," Desmond answers and takes out his knives, one in each hand, making a _come hither_ gesture with them. "Next hit I'm going to make you bleed. So make it a good one."

Cole pauses, thinks, and _finally_ tries to blast him with electricity at a distance, instead of just using his fists. It's fast enough that Desmond would've had a hard time avoiding it… if it had been aimed anywhere near him. Instead the charged blast of light flies wildly off to the side, into the sky and away.

"Nice try," Desmond says, sincerely. "Wanna try actually aiming next time? Come on, I'll give you a freebie –"

Cole grits his teeth, growling furiously through them, and blasts him again and again it misses. Third blast gets a little closer, but not close enough – and it's noticeably weaker.

The fourth never comes.

Desmond watches as Cole wavers, barely producing sparks,, frowning and squinting at his direction like he suddenly can't see properly. Tilting his head to the side Desmond takes a good Eagle Vision look at him. The guy is out of charge – however his body stores the electricity, it's running on empty now.

"I guess that's it, that's you done," Desmond says, affecting disappointment, and lowers his knives. "I could just walk over and cut your throat open and there's nothing you can do about it, is there, Cole?"

"Fucking try it," Cole gasps at him and puts up his fists. They're shaking now. Desmond shakes his head and knocks them down with barely an effort before tripping Cole on his back on the roof and putting a blade to his neck.

"And that's how easy it is," Desmond says, checking Cole over with Eagle Vision while the guy goes still under him. He's got a good collection of fresh bruises but aside from that he's fine, no broken bones, no sprained joints. He'd be stiff and in pain by the morning, but he'd recover. Faster than that, probably, seeing that he's a Conduit.

"Why?" Cole asks, rough, his breathing hard, his body shaking with barely restrained anger. "What the fuck did I do to you?"

"Nothing – I barely know you," Desmond says, sighing. "This wasn't my idea. And I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to keep doing this until you learn."

"Learn fucking _what_?!"

"How to fight," Desmond says and points the knife at the guy's throat. "First lesson – you don't know how to fight. Hope I established that. You wasted a lot of energy and you overextended yourself. Next time do better because I'm going to go for each of your weak points and you're going to feel each and every one of them and you will learn to protect them."

"What – fuck, _next time_?" Cole demands, still breathing hard.

"Yeah, tomorrow night," Desmond agrees, and makes the smallest nick on the guy's throat, just under his Adam's apple. "And you're dead."

With that done, Desmond stands up. Cole tries to follow him, but the surge of adrenaline has run its course and with the electricity expended, the guy has obviously been left shaky and weak. The most he managed is getting up to lean to one elbow, before even that gives out and he collapses with a curse.

"Fuck you, man," Cole groans, his head hitting the rooftop floor with a a thunk. "Whoever you are... I'm going to kick your ass..."

Déjà vu, huh. "It's Desmond and I'm sure you will," Desmond agrees, putting his knives away. "I look forward to it."

As Cole passes out, Desmond looks away, across the city, to the den of the Voice of Survival. Kessler looks up and with a wave Desmond shows him the result – both Zeke and Cole on the floor, their little rooftop hideout in disarray. "There. Satisfied?"

Kessler smiles slowly. "A very fine start," he says and stands up. "Good. I will unlock your phone signal tomorrow morning."

"You… will? _Why_?" Desmond asks suspiciously.

"Because it's what I _promised_ you," Kessler says pointedly, and waves to his men, who step away from the Voice of Survival. "And as long as you keep your promises, I will continue to keep mine and your friend here will stay safe. But no more broadcasts about Sasha."

Desmond grits his teeth. "I can't just let her do what she's doing."

"Then offer an alternative, if you have one – I'll be excited to hear it," Kessler says plainly.

Desmond closes his eyes, breathing in and out. "She's brainwashing people," he says. "For fucks sake man, don't you feel anything about it, at all? Not even a shred of remorse?"

"No. She has use to me, and unless you're looking to take her place…" Kessler trails away and waits for a moment before letting out a knowing hum. "No, I didn't think so. Till next time, then. I look forward to seeing how you proceed – both of you."

Desmond shakes his head and the connection closes with Kessler taking his people and leaving the Voice of Survival shellshocked in a ransacked hideout. "Shit," Desmond murmurs and then glances around the rooftop.

Zeke and Cole are still and so is everything else – there isn't even a flicker of an errand ancestor to be seen. None of them are showing when he kind of wants them the most. Not even Haytham. There's no one.

He's all alone in his fuck up.

Desmond sighs, turns away and then jumps off the roof. There's one more murderer on the Voice's list and chances are the guy will want nothing to do with him after this so… might as well finish the mission. Because damn if Desmond doesn't need to _kill_ something deserving right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp


	8. Chapter 8

The biggest shock in the whole fucking mess is that the Voice of Survival actually still wants something to do with him afterwards. Desmond honestly wouldn't have blamed the guy if he kicked Desmond out of his tower and told to never show his face again – but that doesn't happen.

"I mean, fuck, man. That was – something. Those are the assholes behind the whole thing, right? The explosion, that was them?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees with a sigh while helping the guy fix up the hideout. Kessler hadn't done _much_ damage, but some of the computers had gotten trashed, their hard drives fried. Whatever the Voice had on them, Kessler didn't approve. "I'm sorry about this."

"Yeah," the Voice mutters, throwing another busted up drive in the pile. "Figured it was matter of time before someone came knocking – I just though it'd be the government, NSA, CIA, FBI, whoever the fuck is behind this shit. Didn't think I'd end up meeting the big shot head of the terrorists. First Sons, right?"

"Yeah," Desmond says again, looking a bit of circuitry over. There's a burnt hole drilled right through it, with some kind of power.

"I figured it was them – the way they took over Historic, couldn't be anything else, there's just fuck all information about them out there," the voice mutters and then sits down with a sigh, eying his computer set up with a annoyed expression. "You run with them before this shit went down, or something?"

"No, but I knew Kessler," Desmond says. "And now he has use for me and he knows how to push my buttons."

"And I'm one of your buttons?" the Voice mutters. "Dude, I don't even know you."

"You're innocent I got involved and if you die that's on me. And I don't want to get undeserving people killed," Desmond shrugs and looks the guy over. "Are you alright?"

"Tch," the Voice answers, his knee bouncing with anxious energy as he swings his swivel chair back and forth. Then takes something out from his pocket. A memory stick. "The old fuck gave me this, told me that when he gave me a call, I was supposed to run it… and if I didn't, there'd be consequences. Wanna take a look?"

He plays it without waiting for Desmond's answer and throws up the video on the biggest screen on his hideout. Desmond stands up to watch it, and he's not sure what he feels at the sight of it, but it's not surprise.

It's a video of Cole with a package in his hands, standing in the crossing of two major streets in what looks like the Historic District. The video zooms on him, close enough that they can clearly see the guy's face – his hair is darker than Desmond had expected. The face is the same though – and as he opens the package, the light coming from inside makes it more recognizable still. As they watch, he takes out a device that has to be the Ray Sphere, staring at it with a frown on his face, turning in it's hand. Cole grabs it with both hands…

And the video goes white.

"… shit," the Voice whispers and then quickly rewinds the video, to capture a still of Cole's face. "That was – the blast. He set it off."

"It wasn't his fault," Desmond says quietly, shaking his head. "He didn't know what he was doing, what it was. Kessler put it in his hands, activated it at a distance."

"You know this fucking guy?" the Voice of Survival demands, whirling to face him.

"I know _about him._ I only met him when Kessler put you at gun point – he's the guy Kessler wants me to fight," Desmond admits and folds his arms. "To make him _strong_."

"Jesus fuck," the Voice mutters, leaning back in his chair and then narrowing his eyes. "He's still alive? Even though he was right in the middle of – wait, it wasn't…" he trials a way, running a hand over his chin, thinking quickly. "It wasn't _just_ an explosion. The thing, _that_ thing," he points to the sphere. "It turned people into Conduits. Even people who were half across the city. And if this guy was in the middle of it –"

"He's still recovering, but… yeah. He's going to be the strongest one," Desmond agrees. "That was the whole point – to turn that guy into the strongest conduit."

"Why?" the Voice asks, both knees bouncing with nervous energy now. "You said he didn't know – why him, why didn't Kessler just use the thing himself?"

Desmond blows a breath. "I'm… pretty sure if I tell you anything more, Kessler is going to kill you," he says apologetically. "I probably shouldn't have told you this much. Just – Cole didn't know what he was doing and he still doesn't know what happened to him, or why. Kessler wants you to publish this, make everyone blame, but… Cole is innocent. I don't want you to think otherwise."

The Voice stares at him hard and then looks away, chewing on his thumb nail in thought. "And you, what's your role in this? Were you there?"

"Kind of. I was in coma when the blast went off," Desmond says. "I woke up just after the blast, on the fringes of the blast radius – Kessler left me there, hoping I'd get powers. Now he's using me to train Cole, to give him a reason to get stronger."

The Voice narrows his eyes, and then shakes his head. "So either this guy is _hella_ important, somehow connected to Kessler without knowing it… or Kessler's gonna fucking body jump into him once he's stronger, huh?"

Desmond stops at that, blinking. Honestly, not a angle he'd considered. "I… don't think that's it," he says slowly, even while wondering if it was possible. Knowing Kessler… he can't really rule it out. The guy can fucking _time travel_.

"You know that for sure?"

Desmond clears his throat and shakes his head. "Kinda," he says and makes a face – there's a flicker of white in the edge of his vision, bleeding effect sneaking in. "Kessler's planning for Cole to kill him, once he's strong enough."

The Voice shakes his head. "You realise how fucking little sense that makes?"

Desmond sighs in agreement and looks away, trying to make it casual. It's Connor this time – memory of him poking around the homestead for the first time. "It's almost worse, knowing why he's doing this," Desmond says, watching the memory play out. "Kessler… has a legit reason."

"Uhhuh," the Voice says, narrowing his eyes. "And you think it's important too, don't you? Otherwise you would've gone after Kessler, to kill him. Right?"

"… yeah," Desmond admits and sighs as Connor walks through a wall, and out of sight. Shaking his head, Desmond turns to the Voice. "Doesn't mean I'm on his side willingly, or that I don't want the guy dead. I really do. But… yeah. Can't kill him until his work is done. But man, once Cole is strong enough, I will be there, fucking rooting for him to kick Kessler's ass."

The Voice nods slowly, and rips a bit of his nail off, spitting it to the floor and then turning to the monitors. "So, to get this fucking mess straight. Kessler made that thing," he points to the Ray Sphere. "To make people into Conduits – to make this _Cole_ into the strongest conduit ever. The quarantine was part of it, right? Okay. What about the Plague?"

"Side effect of the Blast," Desmond nods at the Ray Sphere on the screen. "Radiation sickness – which can _spread_ from person to person. Kessler's working on fixing it – it's another reason why I can't kill him. He needs to cure the Plague before he dies."

"Fffuck… okay," the Voice says, drawing a breath. "Right. So. The estimate death toll of the Blast and the Plague is over thirty thousand already and it's still fucking growing. This Cole better be the fucking _Second Coming._ "

Desmond blows out a breath, almost a laugh. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. And he thinks it might be his job to make Cole that way. Hell, he whole Empire City has been turned into Cole's training grounds.

The Voice takes out the memory stick, holding it up. "When I run this, people are going to think Cole was behind the Blast," he says. "They're going to go after the guy – the whole _city_ will turn against him. He'll be the villain of everyone's tragedy. He'll be put through a fucking wringer."

"I think that might be the idea, yeah," Desmond agrees. "How Cole will react to it, what he will do, how he will handle it – how he will get through it… and all that."

"Shit, man," the Voice mutters. "That's fucked up."

"Yep. That's Kessler for you," Desmond sighs and looks at him. "You shouldn't feel bad about it, when you run it. Kessler is just using you as a proxy – if it's not you, then it's someone else, and if there's no one, he can just run it on the news probably. You're just convenient."

"Right," the Voice says, shaking his head. "And you, what about you?"

Desmond checks his phone. Still no signal. "Well, I got about 22 hours until I have to attack Cole again," he says. "Got some time to kill. You got any more jobs for me? Figure I owe you one, at this point."

The Voice bites his lip thoughtfully and then turns to the computers. "Yeah, um… they trashed lot of crap and I need replacements."

Desmond nods and puts the phone away. "Just tell me what to get, and I'll get it for you."

* * *

After a night spent replenishing the Voice's gear from abandoned buildings and derelict shops – and getting the guy some improvements while at it – Desmond kills some more time by napping on top of a building, trying not to think of anything at all, trying not to dream. It's easier not to and trying to come up with plans wouldn't have any point anyway, not before Kessler kept his word… or not. Once Desmond had that confirmation, then he could do some thinking. Maybe.

So he dozes off, restless, and despite his trying to keep his mind blank, he ends up dreaming of Al Mualim anyway, of Altaïr trusting him, believing him, of having that trust so brutally broken. It's almost a relief when Desmond wakes up to the feeling of Cole coming to back in Neon, Eagle Vision helpfully sending all of the man's aches for Desmond to share.

Not really feeling like sleeping anymore, Desmond ends up watching at a distance as Cole and Zeke, who'd woken up before the guy, try and figure out what the fuck even happened.

"You know that guy?" Zeke asks.

"No, never met him," Cole admits, wincing as he presses a cold beer bottle against one of his many bruises. "Though he felt a bit… not familiar exactly but – I dunno. "

"Huh. Well, I know him," Zeke says, running a hand through his head. "Desmond – met him just after the Blast, when you were still unconscious, in the field hospital. He was pretty messed up – Trish thought for a while the guy had a stroke or something. He recovered and took off while we moved to the temp-hospital. Met him again few days back – he needed help with his arm. I fixed it for him, in exchange of that gun you blew up in your face."

"Huh," Cole answers. "Got two blows to the head to thank the guy for then. Figure you fucked up his arm then?"

"Maybe. But kinda looked like he was coming after you, brother, not me."

"… yeah," Cole mutters and rests the beer bottle against his cheek, where Desmond had left him with a shiner. "He said it wasn't his idea. He said he was _sorry_. And that he'd come again."

"What the fuck," Zeke answers, and they're quiet for a moment, Cole nursing himself with a beer and Zeke poking around the empty pizza boxes for leftovers. "What are you going to do?" Zeke asks then, staking the empty boxes up and then summarily throwing them off the rooftop.

"Fuck if I know," Cole sighs as he stands up with a groan, rubbing at his side. "But I think I need some target practice, to start with. You remember those dummies, the ones from the department store – we still have those?"

"Might do, the ones we haven't blown up yet, anyway," Zeke says, thoughtful. "You thinking of setting up a shooting gallery? Huh – hey, you think your freak show could be used to charge batteries? I could wire them up, get us some free electricity while you're at it."

"Sure, but don't blame me if I blow your batteries to sky high."

Desmond closes his Eagle Vision and sighs. Well, at least they aren't taking the whole thing too badly, he muses guiltily and then stretches out on the rooftop, arms behind his neck. And they're getting the idea pretty damn fast Fuck Kessler for being right, but… yeah, they'd definitely set Cole on the right track here. Damn.

…he's going to need some electricity proof gear, isn't he?

* * *

The satellite phone gets a signal precisely at 9 am next morning. At that time Desmond is in middle of trying to figure out how to make electrically insulated clothing look good – the sets he's found are all very high-visibility-yellow, seeing as they are stuff made for people working on power lines and stuff, and they aren't very flattering. Maybe he could wear them under the white coat Kessler had given him…? It's all rather beside the point, but if it's clothing he's eventually going to get his ass kicked in, he might as well look good, right? He is still an Assassin. There's some standards.

There's even Ezio hanging near by, and he might be distracted by a memory of something or other, but Desmond gets the distinctive impression that he would probably not approve neon yellow. Ezio had never looked anything but his best. "Yeah," Desmond agrees as the guy takes out a handful of coins and throws them to distract a bunch of civilians from five hundred years ago. "If only."

If money meant anything, he'd find a tailor to fix the set for him. As it is…

Then his phone rings.

"You have now unrestricted calls," Kessler tells him – and man, it's weird hearing him on the phone again, as opposed to _in his head_. "I am monitoring them, of course, but no one else will hear what is being said. And don't worry about security otherwise, as long as no one is physically near enough to over hear on either end, the connection is absolutely secure."

"Future tech, huh?" Desmond asks, dropping the yellow jacket to the ground with a sigh.

"I don't take chances with information," Kessler agrees. "Do you have numbers to call for your Assassins, or should I provide you some?"

Desmond sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head. No one exactly trusted him with phone numbers, when he'd been with the Assassins. Not that it had ever came up anyway – who would he even call? "Yeah," he agrees then. "And don't think I'm happy about having to ask."

"I have no doubt it kills you inside," Kessler agrees mildly. "Is there anything else you need, in order to do your job well?"

Desmond looks at the yellow, electrically proof clothes on the ground, grinding his teeth a bit. "I need gear to keep Cole from frying me to death," he says flatly. "And as much as I fucking hate to ask you… this is _your_ idea. So you might as well provide me with the tools of the trade to do this properly."

"I would be _happy_ to," Kessler rumbles, amused. "What do you need?"

Fuck it, alright. Might as well go all out, if Kessler's picking up the bill. "Lightning proof armour, and I want it to actually look good – make it white and red," Desmond begins. "I want blades – throwing knives and a good dagger, I want Assassin hidden blades, you can probably figure out what those are. I want grenades, smoke, stun, and tear gas. I want sleeping darts – actually, I want a sniper rifle, which can also do sleeping darts. Also another gun, and ammunition to match."

"Very well. Anything else? Assault riffle, mines, bombs…?"

Desmond thinks about it and then shakes his head. "No. Unless you can do a hook shot that can haul me up buildings and a glider I can fit in a backpack, that's it," he says, and then looks where Ezio had been – he's gone now, but thinking about him… "Actually, I need some sort of distraction tool and since money's useless… I want boxes of granola and protein bars."

"To… use as distraction?" Kessler clarifies dubiously.

"People are hungry, asshole. If I need them out of the way, throwing bunch of nicely wrapped free food on the ground will probably do the trick better than anything else," Desmond says and shakes his head. "Shouldn't be a issue for you, right? You have free reign to break quarantine."

"Hm. Very well – where do you want them delivered?"

Desmond snorts, and gives him the address to the abandoned Reaper hideout. "How fast can I get them – because before I go to fight Cole again would be best."

"I'll have them to you by noon – the armour might take longer, but I will make sure it's delivered before your next training session," Kessler agrees. "I look forward to seeing you fight again, and to seeing how Cole improves. Do call me again, Desmond – I rather miss our chats."

"Yeah, I bet you do, you miserable bastard," Desmond mutters, and hangs up, shaking his head. "Making deals with the devil," he sighs, looking down at the electricity gear on the ground at his feet. Then, just in case, he picks it up again, folding the yellow clothes over one arm before checking the phone.

It has three numbers on it, on top of Kessler's unnamed number. One of the others is named Report, the next is named Erudito, and last is called the Historian.

Shaun would have a semi public number, for an Assassin – seeing as he ran the historical database of the entire Brotherhood, he would need to be easy to reach for any Assassin who came up anything new. And on top of that he was one of the many coordinators for Brotherhood's operations. Having a number no one was able to reach would be bit detrimental.

Desmond hesitates, his thumb hovering over the call button, before putting the phone away and heading to his new hideout instead. The place hasn't seen any activity since Sasha took the Reapers over and Desmond rather doubts it would be used by the Reapers again. The stuff she did to them… he doubts it can be easily reversed. So, their hideout it's as safe a place as any, really.

It's not like he needs a hideout, really. Desmond can stay anywhere – as a Conduit he's not that bothered by sleeping outside, anymore. But it would be a place to operate from, a place to keep his stuff – place to collect other stuff. So far he hasn't been that interested in looting, but doing by what the Voice had said, chances are the guy would have more targets for him, none of them particularly good people… and they likely would have stuff on them that would be better kept hidden. Like weapons, drugs… bombs…

The warehouse isn't much of a looker. It was used as a garage and someone had had a workshop in it at some point. The place consists of one bigger hall area, and then the end which has couple of offices, some more secure storage rooms, and what almost passes for a living area with a kitchen, bathroom, changing room. The kitchen is a mess – the Reapers had been doing a lot of drugs there – but with a bit of work it would be liveable.

It kind of reminded him of the first hide out Lucy took him, really, the one Vidic eventually busted into. It's almost nostalgic.

Watching the ghost of Assassins long gone populate the building with echoes of older, long lost hideouts, Desmond throws the electricity proof clothes over a ratty couch and then sits on the metal steps leading up to the second floor office. Glancing around with Eagle Vision Desmond makes sure the place is safe and secure and most importantly _unmonitored_ , before taking out the satellite phone, and looking over the numbers again.

His gut instinct says to call the Report number – it's probably a voice mail for Assassins to leave messages and mission reports in, or at least it makes sense that they'd have something like that. Calling Erudito would probably make sense too, and it would be a long fucking call, no matter who answered the phone, but they'd get to the bottom of what happened, figure out what was what. That was their whole thing, after all.

But in the end, the Historian's number tempts him too much.

Desmond hits call, and with his heart pounding he lifts the phone to his ear, eying the empty warehouse as the phone rings, wondering how they'd react. Would they even believe him? He's not sure he would. Chances are they think he's dead. Or kidnapped. Which he… kind of was.

Two rings, three, five, seven…

How would he even explain the whole thing? _Sorry guys, I got tangled with a super villain and ended up in indentured servitude, it sucks, but hey, I'm alive, and I got my freaky eye power all souped up, how about that?_ Yeah. Probably not that.

Nine, twelve, fifteen… twenty… twenty five…

"For fuck's sake, guys, pick up," Desmond murmurs with a grimace, running a hand through his hair. "What are you doing, trying to track the number? Yeah probably not gonna work, not with this phone. Just answer and I'll tell you where I am. Neon District, Empire City, in a fine fucking mess. It's been _great._ Can't wait to tell you guys about it as soon as you fucking _pick up the phone._ "

The signal sound stops and there's a familiar voice in his ear. "Bloody hell," Shaun says, his voice flat with shock.

Desmond blinks and lifts his head. "Was that a fake dial sound?" he asks incredulously.

"Well, yes, _obviously_ – you're calling from an unknown number, did you really expect someone to just _pick it up_?" Shaun demands.

"Well, yeah, kinda?" Desmond answers, blinking, his heart feeling like a drum in his chest, it's beating so rapidly. "Hi, Shaun."

" _Hi, Desmond_ – what the hell is going on? You're in _Empire City_? We thought you were dead!"

"Yeah," Desmond says, and clears his throat. "Yeah, well. I'm not. Surprise? What, were you _worried_ about me, Shaun?"

"Oh, piss off," Shaun answers with his voice actually shaking a little and Desmond's never been so happy to be told off in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

Running a hand over his forehead, Desmond watches the ghosts flicker in and out of view, as his mind tries to transpose memories over reality, tries to make the dirty warehouse look more like home. For a moment it gets the ceiling of the central hall of Masyaf's cast and the hangings from Ezio's tiber island hideout. There's pillows on the floor from Istanbul and across from him there's a fireplace, Connor and Achilles used to sit by it late into the night, talking about what the brotherhood used to be.

He has a headache again. Not a bad one, but… it's there.

"Des?" Shaun asks in his ear. "You there?"

Desmond lifts his head. "Yeah, I'm still here – sorry, what did you say?"

"We can't get in touch with your dad, he uh… he kind of dropped off the map around January and we haven't heard from him since. He's not the mentor anymore anyway, but – you know. Sorry. We did our best."

"Well, that's all I can ask for, I guess. Thanks Shaun," Desmond says and runs a hand over his eyes, rubbing at them. "Figure you talked to whoever succeeded him?"

"Yeah, I did. He, uhh… I'm not to tell you who it is, or where, or what he's doing, though. You're kind of… compromised, after all, so… security issues, you know."

Desmond snorts at that. "Yeah, no kidding."

"I got Becs with me here now, though," Shaun says. "You wanna say hello? I can put you on speaker."

"Yeah, sure."

"Desmond! Hey!" Rebecca calls, her voice slightly more distant than Shaun's. "Good job on not being dead, we were – we thought – well you know."

"Yeah," Desmond says and sighs, smiling. "Good to hear you too, Rebecca. How are you doing?"

"Same old, same old. Been doing bit of missions of my own – nothing big, little bit of infiltration, it's been fun," Rebecca says, and her cheer sounds only a little fake. She's leaning a little closer, her voice coming through slightly clearer as she says, "Shaun tells me you're in Empire City."

"Oh yeah," Desmond says and sighs. "I think I've been here since the Grand Temple, but… I only woke up with the Blast."

"Damn, dude. And it wasn't Abstergo?"

"Nope. The First Sons," Desmond says. "You want me to run through the whole thing again?"

"Well I got the first report on record, but… yeah," Shaun says. "Sorry man, the Mentor asked me to get it down again."

"To see if I can keep the story straight?" Desmond asks wryly.

"Well… yeah."

Desmond snorts and then lets his hand drop to hang between his knees as he looks at the hide out – the memories are gone now, and he's left with bare insulation on the walls and oil stains on the concrete floors. "I met Kessler the night before Abstergo got me," he starts. "The guy walked into Bad Weather, the bar I worked at, and stuck up a conversation…"

It's easier to go through it the second time – though at this point it's technically the first one. He tells them about the phone number, the lottery number, and the calls behind the others back. What he doesn't tell is the fact that Kessler is from future – just that the guy _knew_ future, and could prove it, had proved it with the Lottery numbers.

"I left the ticket in my backpack – what happened to it?" Desmond asks again – Shaun hadn't answered the last time.

"We cashed it in," Rebecca says cheerfully.

"Rebecca!"

"What? We thought Desmond was dead and it was money we could use – it went to the Brotherhood, though we did get a share. We upgraded all our gear and got Animus up to 3.1," Rebecca says. "There's probably still some left of it, Desmond, but uh… I dunno if we can get it to you all that easily."

"We weren't going to tell him that," Shaun says and then clears his throat. "That is to say – uh. We really did think you were dead at the time, Desmond – we weren't trying to steal from you or anything. The Mentor feels a bit awkward about it now, and we were hoping to figure out some way to, uh… pay you back, somehow."

"It's whatever," Desmond says, smiling. "It's not like I was ever going to be able to use it – if it helps the Brotherhood, then I say let you keep it."

"It was a lot of money, Desmond," Shaun reminds him.

"Yeah," Desmond agrees wistfully. "Could've bought my own bar. That would've been nice."

"Uh… Seriously, a bar? You would've – you know what, I don't care," Shaun says. "Back to your report."

Desmond grins. "Well, you know what happened next. The Grand Temple, and the Solar flare," he says. "And the activation of the Conduit gene."

"The _spontaneous_ mutation of the Isu gene, you mean," Rebecca says on the phone.

"You noticed in your end too, then?" Desmond asks curiously, lifting his head a little. "Isu?"

"Yeah, the First Civilisation. It even affected blood samples – like _your_ blood samples," Rebecca says. "Every person we know that has Isu DNA had something happen to them, something _change_ in them. Everyone started giving weird readings and then… well you wouldn't know her, but one of our Assassins, she got powers."

"Nice – what kind?"

"No, not nice, it's not nice at all," Shaun denies vehemently. "She was a menace even before them, and now she can _fly_ and make things levitate."

Rebecca hums in agreement, "How about you, Desmond?" she asks. "Did you, uh… wake up with anything new?"

"… yeah. The Eagle Vision, it's… it's pretty strong now."

"Oh," Rebecca says, and she sounds almost disappointed.

"Strong how?" Shaun asks dubiously.

"Strong like I can concentrate onto a person five miles away, and I can _see them_ ," Desmond says and concentrates. Cole is shooting electricity at some target dummies – his aim is still a bit off, but he's no longer missing most of the shots. "I can see what they're doing, hear what they're saying – if I concentrate, I can feel what they're feeling, _know_ what they're thinking."

Cole is thinking about the quarantine, the military on Stanton Bridge, and if there might be a way to get pass them, get out of the hellhole that Empire City had become. Poor guy, it would never work, Kessler would never let him go that easily 

" _Damn_ ," Rebecca murmurs. "Can you see us?"

Desmond sighs, and looks away from Cole. "No, you're too far away, wherever you are. I think the limit is about ten miles or so, can't see farther than that." Not yet, anyway. "There are conduits who can block me, though – telepaths can feel when I'm looking at them with Eagle Vision, and they can hide from me, so it's not exactly omniscience. Also I need to know what I'm looking for in order to actually look at it."

"Still, that's definitely something," Shaun murmurs. "Can you see a way out of Empire City?"

"Sure," Desmond says and sighs. Boat might work with bit of luck and care. Scuba suit and enough water tanks and anyone could swim out of the place. He could break into the First Sons' hideout and use whatever ways they're using. "… but I can't leave."

"Because Kessler."

"Because Kessler," Desmond agrees. "And I can't kill him because he's working on curing the plague, and he's the best shot we got. It's why he's using me to do his dirty work – it frees his hands for the research."

"Damn, Desmond," Rebecca murmurs.

"Yeah."

"Are we sure the plague is real?" Shaun asks. "Honestly, with the way people are reporting about it…"

Desmond closes his eyes and then looks to one of the many emergency medical clinics around Empire City. They'd tried to isolate Plague victims at first, but there was no use – no one knew how the plague spread, but it didn't care about isolation procedures, jumping through masks and walls. About eight thousand people had caught it already – and over five hundred of them had died.

"It's real," Desmond says, concentrating until he can see into the bodies of the plague victims, can see the foreign energy inside them, strangling them. "It's not biological, it's radiation – but it's not like normal radiation poisoning. It's like infection, corruption – it latches onto a person:s neuro-electricity and it sort of… drains it."

Neither Shaun nor Rebecca say anything to that. Desmond isn't sure they even believe him.

Desmond runs a hand over his face again and then looks away from the hospital – his eyes latching on something moving within the Neon District. A truck, driven by a guy in electrically insulated get up with a gas mask and everything. A member of the First Sons – several members, actually, two in the front of the truck, two in the back. They're heading his way.

"I gotta go," Desmond says. "I'm about to get a delivery from the First Sons."

"Delivery of what?" Shaun asks sharply.

"Weapons," Desmond says and stands up with a stretch. "Among other things. It was nice talking with you guys – do it again sometime?"

"You damn well better," Rebecca says, sounding troubled.

"Listen, I'll talk it over with the Mentor, there should be something we can do for you, get you out of there – something we can do about Kessler," Shaun says quickly.

"No, don't," Desmond says, shaking his head even though they can't see it. "As much as I hate the way he's going about it… Kessler has his reasons. And I'm… I guess I'm on his side in this. As much as I hate him."

Rebecca lets out a quiet sigh. "Desmond… the guy set off a bomb in a city, he killed _thousands_."

"Yeah, and he's going to die for it, eventually. Right now we need him alive," Desmond says ruefully as he walks to the warehouse doors, to open their locks. "And… if you come here, you're just going to fall into his trap too, probably. I'd rather you didn't. Bad enough that I'm stuck in this mess, you know?"

"We'll figure something out," Shaun promises. "We're not just leaving you there."

Desmond smiles, and pulls the doors open. "Gotta prove I haven't gone around the bend and joined the enemy side first, right?" he says, and waves to the First Sons, who are just turning their truck towards his hideout. "And honestly… I'm not sure I haven't."

They don't say anything to that.

"Yeah. Do your research and whatnot, talk it over. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Desmond says and steps aside so that the truck can back up inside. "Gotta go now. It was nice hearing your voices again. And I'm sorry… about going behind your backs, about all of this."

They don't say it's alright, which is just as well. "Bye Desmond. Talk to you soon," is all he gets, and probably all he deserves.

Desmond puts the phone away and sighs. Then he puts on his game face, and turns to meet the First Sons' couriers – it's time to gear up.

* * *

Desmond watches Cole from distance, idly flipping one of his new throwing knives in the air. Cole is pacing the rooftop agitatedly while Zeke moves the more volatile stuff below the deck, so to speak – taking the TV, the batteries and the sound system into the stairwell. "Don't want you frying this stuff up when you go at it."

"Yeah," Cole says, sparks flying between his hands as he looks around, scanning the other rooftops for Desmond.

"Still don't get why we don't just skedaddle," Zeke says, grunting as he hauls the old TV up in his arms. "Plenty of places to hide from the guy, you know. Can't come after you if he doesn't know where you are."

"No, he'd know. It wouldn't matter where I went – he'd be able to find me."

Desmond tilts his head to the side. Huh. He had been wondering why Cole hadn't taken off, why he'd stayed on the rooftop, but… he hadn't expected that.

"Shit, really?" Zeke asks, giving him a glance. "How'd you figure that?"

"Dunno. Just a feeling," Cole says and looks down at his hands. "I don't know how to explain it, I just… know."

"One of your freaky new Conduit powers, huh?"

"Guess so," Cole says, squeezing his hands into fists and then dropping them to his side with a sigh. "Fuck if I know. But at least up here, no passer's by are going to get hurt, you know? You should take off too, Zeke. Don't get in the crossfire again."

"Brother, if you think for a second that I am going to leave you alone with the nutcase – "

"I'm serious, Zeke. I still don't have much control over this, I don't want to hit you by mistake."

"Hell, I can take cover," Zeke says, irritated. "But I ain't going nowhere. If it comes down to it, you might need back up. Now I might not have spiffy superpowers like you, Cole, but I can brain the guy over the head with a two-by-four or something. That's better than nothing."

Cole opens his mouth to argue, and Zeke carries the TV out of sight. Desmond leans his head back against the wall behind him, humming quietly. He'd rather avoid collateral damage too. Maybe he should snipe Zeke with a sleeping dart, get him out of the way. Or knock him out with a stun grenade. If Cole got knocked out by it too, then, hell. It'd be a lesson. Smoke grenade and a blow to the head could work too. Decisions, decisions.

He'd really rather not give the guy repeated concussions though. That sort of shit had side effects.

"That's the last of 'em," Zeke says, once the TV is under the roof and out of harm's way. "You are free to let loose as much as you want now, Cole. Just – don't break the rooftop, we still gotta live somewhere."

"Don't think I even have the power for something like that," Cole says and sits down on the couch with a sigh. "Sure I can't talk you to getting out of the way?"

"Yup. You're stuck with me," Zeke says, sitting beside him. "Though I gotta say, I'm kinda hoping it was a one time deal and the guy's not coming after all. It's been a day already. Maybe he's fucked off."

Cole sighs and runs both hands over his face, hanging his head. "No dice there. He's watching us right now, waiting for his opportunity."

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah. I can feel him. He's nearby. Been for a while now."

"Damn," Desmond murmurs and puts the knife away. "Talk about fast growth."

Well, with that kind of invitation, who's he to keep them waiting. Stretching his arms, Desmond looks around the street in front of Cole's building, at the train tracks that run over it – there's not many people hanging about, thankfully. Just a few homeless guys, huddling near an overflowing trash can.

None of them pay attention as Desmond aims his right arm up and towards the rooftop, and then fires off the hook shot launcher that Kessler's people had installed to the back of it. It impacts the side of the rooftop and Cole reacts immediately, swinging to his feet even as the hookshot pulls Desmond off his feet and rapidly into the air.

He lands on the rooftop with a flip, pulling the hookshot back into its place while Cole vaults over the couch, to face him,

"Evening," Desmond says, eying the guy from under his hood, while Zeke too scrambles to his feet, a little less eager to face him, but determined. Desmond smiles. "Have you been training?"

"Why are you doing this?" Cole demands, even as his fists light up, bright blue lightning flickering around them sharply.

"I'm training you," Desmond says, looking at the guy's fists and then at his face. "Right. Let's see if you've learned anything."

As he launches into movement, Cole blasts him with his lightning – and though he's definitely been practicing, Desmond isn't giving him freebies this time. The aim might be true, but he telegraphs it with his every move, and it's no problem to duck under and weave past the blasts – and the speed with which Cole can produce them isn't very high.

Three blasts, and then Desmond reaches the guy, blocks his wild punch, and hits him, _hard_ , in the stomach.

"First weakness," Desmond says as Cole stumbles back, breath knocked out of him. "Your defense is shoddy. Fists up, Cole, keep them tight – let's see if I can teach you how to block properly."

" _Ffuck_ you –" Cole grunts, and gets his fists up just quick enough to keep Desmond from hitting him again in the stomach. Desmond tries again, a couple of times, testing the poor defence until Cole figures out how to hold his arms – and then Desmond jabs him in the jaw, because in defending his gut, the guy is leaving his face open. It's a light punch, Desmond doesn't want to actually dislocate Cole's jaw or knock a tooth off, but it definitely leaves the guy reeling.

"Second weakness," Desmond says, going after him, fist raised for another jab. "You get stuck doing one thing – multitask a little. Come on, fists up –"

And then Zeke comes at him with his two-by-four, swinging wildly and trying to get him over the head. "Get off him, you son of a –"

Desmond ducks under it and then does a quick leg sweep, knocking the feet from under the guy and bringing him crashing down. Before Zeke gets the chance to recover, Desmond pulls a gun and aims it directly at Zeke's face – even Cole comes to a complete, breathless stand still at that.

"The only reason either of you isn't dead yet is because I'm not actually trying to kill you," Desmond says flatly. "But you're in the way, and not part of this lesson. Get out of the way."

"Fuck you, man," Zeke says, shaky, staring at the gun. "I'm not going anywhere -"

Desmond shoots the rooftop beside his head, making sure the ricochet is aimed away, and Zeke stutters to silence. Then Desmond aims the gun back at Zeke's face, the barrel smoking now. "Again," he says. "Get out of the way."

"Zeke," Cole says tightly, wiping a bit of blood from under his nose, staring at Desmond. "Just – back off, man. This ain't your fight. Please."

Zeke mutters a curse, looking between Desmond's gun and Cole who is putting his fists up again. Then, shaking his head, he scrambles to his feet and out of the way, going to the couch and leaning on it. He looks and _feels_ furious. But at least he's out of the way and, hopefully, out of harm's way.

Cole spits a bit of blood on the rooftop. "Not that I'm sure why this is my fight either," he mutters. "But you're definitely making me want to kick your ass more and more."

Desmond points the gun at Zeke. "He's a weakness too, you know," he comments. "Aim a gun at him and you can't do shit."

"Yeah, but hurt him and I will fucking kill you," Cole says tightly, his eyes flicking between him and Cole. "Don't you fucking dare."

Desmond hums and puts the gun away. The moment he does, Cole comes at him with his fists, sparking with electricity and aimed for Desmond's head. Desmond ducks to the side, and then blocks the secondary blow and punches Cole on the throat. "Weakness number… Whatever," Desmond says as the guy chokes for a breath. "Defense, Cole, seriously. You leave yourself wide open."

It doesn't get much better from there. Desmond doesn't hold back much at all, and so Cole gets a more brutal beat down than the first one – and even when the guy learns how to block punches, that doesn't mean he gets all that many of his own in. Even when electrified, his punches have a poor reach – in that he reaches either too far, or not far enough, and his aim is off. And then there's kicks – as in, the guy is not all that prepared to be kicked in the middle of trading punches with someone.

And they haven't even gotten to grabbles or throws.

"Come on, Cole, kick this guy's ass," Zeke roots from the side, but it's pretty half hearted and wincing – five minutes, and Cole is barely keeping up anymore, panting and gasping through bloodied nose. "You can do it, brother, just keep going…"

Cole is pretty much done though. At the end of a rather shoddy show, Desmond grabs Cole by his sloppily extended wrist, spins him around, kicks his feet from under him and then puts into a choke hold.

"And where oh where is that lightning," Desmond wonders while the guy struggles in his hold, feet kicking at the ground, fingers scratching helplessly at Desmond's metal arm around his throat. "Where did the sparks go, hm? You were raring to go at the start there, what happened?"

"You – _goddamn_ – " Cole chokes out and Desmond tightens his hold, putting more pressure on the guy's windpipe. Zeke makes a move towards them, and Desmond pins him down with a look, making a finger gun motion at the guy and he stops, helpless and _fuming_ as he watches his friend being choked.

For a moment it looks like that will be it – Cole's struggles are already waning off, his fingers grasping at nothing, his feet slipping. Desmond tilts his head to see his face, watching the guy's eyes roll back, keeping a finger on his vitals to make sure not to do any permanent damage. Couple more seconds, and then he'd let go.

Then Cole _explodes_ with power, his body shooting out a shockwave which knocks Desmond's arms off him, and pushes him back a foot or two. While Desmond winces at the impact and quickly regains his footing, Cole himself collapses on the rooftop, out like a light with electricity crawling all over his limp body

"Well," Desmond says, clearing his throat and straightening his coat. It had blocked the electricity, at least. Kessler's people did good work, it seems. "That was… new."

"You son of a _fuck_ ," Zeke says, rushing towards to check up on Cole, wincing at the zap of electricity as he check's the man's pulse. "You almost _killed_ him."

"No, I didn't, and I wouldn't," Desmond says, backing away to give him more room, checking his metal arm as he does. Cole had barely scratched it. "He'll be fine. He's strong – he has no form whatsoever, but he'll learn."

"Seriously. What is your deal, you asshole?" Zeke demands, glaring at him over his sunglasses. "Are you getting off on this, or what?"

Desmond looks at him and then shrugs. "I don't want to do this. I just don't have a choice," he says quietly, wondering if he'd gone too far after all. He was still a bit off from his call to Shaun and Rebecca and… and it's not an excuse. "It's either this or someone dies. Lot of people, really. Cole needs to learn, and I've been selected to teach him –"

"This is one messed up way to teach anyone, you realise? What's wrong with actually showing him how to fight, instead of just beating it into him?" Zeke demands. "Sure the guy is a bit sloppy, but he'd probably learn better if you just _showed him_ what you want him to do, instead of – of _this_."

Desmond adjusts the cuffs of his new coat and then shakes his head. "If we had a couple of years, sure. But we don't," he says and sighs. And he's pretty sure if he takes it easy on Cole, Kessler will get someone to beat up the guy for him. At least Desmond knows when to stop. "I am sorry, really."

"Screw you," Zeke says, and then hauls Cole up with a grunt, dragging him to the couch. Desmond watches them go and then sighs, before turning his eyes away and activating his Eagle Vision.

Kessler is working at a laboratory, putting samples into a centrifuge. "Yes, I saw," he says without looking up. "I have the rooftop monitored. Bit more brutal than I expected, but… certainly gratifying. Should definitely serve as a lesson and reason to improve. Good job."

Definitely didn't feel like it. Desmond says nothing, closing his eyes and then glancing at Zeke and Cole again, making sure they were okay. Then with a shake of his head, he turns to the nearest edge of the rooftop, and leaves.

Once on the ground level, Desmond puts a call for the Voice of Survival. "Please tell me you have something for me to do," he says, sighing. "I got issues to work out."

"You have more than _issues_ , man," the voice answers. "But yeah, I got something – I've been looking into stuff, trying to get more footage and info on the Blast, and guess what I found out? When your boy Cole blew up the thing – the thing that blew… didn't."

Desmond makes a face "What does that mean?"

"The bomb. When it went off, it wasn't destroyed any more than the guy holding it was. It didn't really even blow up, not really," the Voice of Survival says and Desmond stops.

"The Ray Sphere," Desmond says slowly. "It's – _fuck_."

"Yeah. It's still out there, somewhere. And I don't think even Kessler knows where."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up epilogue and then probably a vaguely dissatisfying ending.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 9 after the Event**

I have finally concluded the necessary arrangements to set Cole on his way. Desmond has accepted his role as Cole's tutor, as it were. Though he is not particularly willing in his role, he will nonetheless excel at it – already Cole is performing beyond my expectations. Where I estimated it would take him at least two weeks, perhaps three, to begin awakening his powers, he is already well on his way to awakening two separate abilities. More will no doubt follow.

Desmond himself, if he is progressing with his vision based ability, doesn't show it. His clairvoyance expressed itself near perfect, of course – much like Sasha with her excretion, having had this ability prior to the Ray Sphere detonation, Desmond bypassed the earlier stages of power development and immediately awakened a higher level version of his previous power. He seems to think, or perhaps hope, that is as far as it will go. I have my doubts.

The Ray Sphere is not a singular event, nor was it ever meant to be. It is only a opening note of a larger, growing symphony. Cole might have gained the lion's share of that power, but the others too will reap the fruits of my labour. Once awakened, they will all continue to grow. All the Conduits of Empire City, Desmond and Sasha included. All of them will grow stronger.

As to myself… hm. Well, it hardly matters.

Sasha is growing her power base in the guts of Neon District – already she has nearly hundred people at her disposal. She hardly knows what to do with them, her simple plan is to simply take the district over, and then turn her forces against me, and no strategy as to how she's supposed to do that. She will fail, of course, her Reapers will never make it to the Historic District, but they don't need to. They will make a suitable… practice dummies for Cole, once they too have grown a little. Few more days, I think, few more days for Desmond to train Cole… and then I can bring them head to head.

I admit, I am as excited as I am nervous to see how this will go. How fast will Cole grow, with all these tools poised against him, and for him? Would that I could, I would bring my own powers to bear… but I cannot.

The Plague is my enemy now, and I have limited time to deal with it.

* * *

**Day 10 after the Event**

Desmond came to see me, at last. Honestly I expected him to do it sooner, but I suppose he was afraid. Afraid of what he himself would do to me, afraid of what I might do to him, now that he is a Conduit. I did offer to show him what I know. I was tempted – now that he has powers so similar to my own, I could have forced the knowledge upon him with little fear of damaging his brain, or killing him. I didn't, in the end, though I did offer it. He begged off.

"I see enough hallucinations as it is, thank you very much."

I suppose he would, at that. Who knows what awakening of the Conduit gene, the Isu gene – the very gene that gives people like him such extraordinary wealth of genetic information – would do to his mind… I dare say that how sane he is now is something of a miracle. I am not surprised if he is seeing things. Most of us are.

The world is full of psychic residue, of memories and emotions smeared on all surfaces, compounded over years and generations. Though only Conduits are susceptible to them, most every human leaves behind their fingerprints in psychic residue. For an untrained mind, it's easy to become overwhelmed. Desmond, who not only has a vision based ability but also suffers from visual hallucinations, should by all rights be debilitated by them. But that's where a Conduit's resilience comes in.

He is adjusting, now, finally, accepting what has become of him… and what he has done.

Our discussion was almost cordial, for all that he expressed the very sincere urge to see me suffer and die no less than four times. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, to make a normally calm man so angry. I suppose I should take pride in having affected him so.

I don't.

He knows now that I have lost the Ray Sphere. Asked me why I did not demand him to find it, seeing as with his abilities he should be able to… but the answer should be obvious. As long as the Ray Sphere is lost, we have time to work. The moment it resurfaces, things will be set in motion again.

Do I know where it is… no. Do I know who has it, yes. And I am keeping him in a way contained – cut off from his handlers so that he stays underground, stays hidden and keeps the Ray Sphere safe, not only from my enemies… but from me.

Should I get in my possession again, I cannot promise I would not force it into Cole's hands again, and damn the Plague. He is still too weak. Far too weak.

I don't know if Desmond Looked, if he now knows where the Ray Sphere is. Perhaps it's power keeps him from Seeing, perhaps he too does not want to know – he knows how open his mind is to telepaths, and there are so many telepaths in Empire City now. Should any one of them take a peek at his head…

Desmond knows better, I think, but I can't be sure. I didn't ask either way – too busy choking on my blood. The man damn near broke my nose. I could have moved out of the way easily enough and avoided the indignity, but… I owed him that much, I think.

* * *

**Day 11 after the Event**

Another magnificent fight between Cole and Desmond. For the first time, it did not end with Cole unconscious. Desmond, I am glad to say, did not take it easy on him, Desmond has too many personal issues to deal with now and Cole makes for a suitable enough target… but nonetheless. Cole made it out the fight not only conscious and standing – but even somewhat victorious.

He managed to blow Desmond off the rooftop with a quick, if rather ungraceful use of his shock wave ability. It was at the very end of his rope, of course, Desmond does know how to push Cole to the very edge – he has by now figured out what I have always known. The angrier Cole gets, the more affected, the more _frustrated_ … the more powerful his reactions too become. Desmond has begun, in his way, to toy with Cole, to bring forth that desperation that Cole sorely needs. And it brings results.

The next fight should be more interesting still – Cole is slowly, but steadily learning better hand to hand combat tactics, lacking though his form is in finesse. Desmond certainly laments it – how rough the style Cole is growing into really is. But it is powerful. Now that he is finally using more and more of his electric abilities in his fighting, the fights will start getting closer, and closer. Soon, I believe, Desmond will be forced to rely more and more on weaponry, and the fights will grow more dire still.

And after that, Desmond will no longer be a match for Cole. Other methods of training will have to be devised, then. I have every trust in Desmond's abilities – he is keyed in on Cole's status, now, and invested in his growth. Amidst the assassination, thievery, murder and other atrocities Desmond is committing in Empire City in name of _doing good…_ Cole is the greatest good he will ever produce. And he knows it.

I do feel sorry for Desmond, occasionally, for the ambitions and dreams he had.

I feel sorry that he doesn't see how great he too is becoming.

But now I must get to work.

* * *

**Day 12 after the Event.**

Though I cut my ties with our former allies the day of the event – and truth be told, never honoured those ties in the first place – they still come knocking, in their own way. DARPA is still looking for a way to bring me under control – to find the Ray Sphere and take charge of the project. Now that they know it's true power… of course they want it. Just as well the Ray Sphere is lost.

The Plague they do not take seriously at all. That was my doing, I'm afraid – in our original plans the Plague was a forgery, a synthetic disease with a ready made cure, something to frighten the population enough to keep them under control for the duration of the… _experiment_. Though they know the Plague that followed is a very different thing from our plans, they dismiss it as little more than radiation exposure, which would run it's course, kill those infected, and pass.

I did give them my data, out of mere curiosity. The scans I have taken of victims, the results from the casualties – I even have an irrefutable proof of the worst of my fears, of the radiation _infecting_ a previously completely unaffected host… but they did not care. Why would they care, when there is the promise of super powered soldiers on the line. Worse yet, they have Sasha's research from before. Her Force Conduits.

She's already making them in the pits below the city, turning people with the Conduit gene into forcefully activated Conduits. And she's not the only one – Alden Tate is doing the same in the Warren, finding people with the gene with unerring accuracy, and forcing his mental abilities upon them. So much power, so much potential… and he calls his students _Dust men_ , using them to gather and _animate_ trash. I suppose you can't expect much better, from an army built of the homeless, growing in a city district which is little more than an open landfill.

Sometimes I wonder about this city, I really do. Was it in such a state in my youth, too? Or have my actions somehow… corrupted it?

DARPA is moving an agent into Empire City, to try and _contain_ the situation and _recapture_ the Ray Sphere. I will keep an eye on their proceedings, as much as I can, amidst my research. Should they learn of how Sasha and Alden are forcing their powers upon others…

Things could get messy.

* * *

**Day 13 after the Event**

The research is bearing little fruit so far. The Ray Sphere radiation infection doesn't act like… anything that I have ever seen before. It grows, it transforms, it adapts – every host suffers it in minutely different ways. It is an infection, yes, a contagion of energy that attacks the natural energies of a human body, and corrupts them, but how it does that… it should not be possible. It is as though in this small localised way, the very laws of nature have been altered. This is not how neuro-electricity works, and yet, I see it every day.

755 people have died of the Plague now, and approximately 12000 people are infected, with thousands and thousands more who have been exposed and might carry the seeds of the contagion. It takes anywhere from 1 to 4 days for the infection to spread to noticeable levels and though I don't have enough data to estimate the progress of the infection from there, to say how long it will take until the victim dies… I have no doubt the mortality rate is 100%. There will be a growing death toll which will climbing very soon. This is only the beginning.

And nothing I do seems to make a dent on the infection. No medicine works, naturally, I have tested electro shock therapy to no avail, the best telepaths and empaths of the First Sons have taken a crack at the victims, to no effect – it is a miracle that they weren't themselves infected. But then, of course, the infection doesn't affect Conduits. There have been victims with Conduit gene, but upon successful activation of the Conduit gene, the infection clears. Though useful knowledge, it's ultimately unhelpful.

Sadly there is not enough time to engineer a retrovirus to introduce the Conduit gene to the rest of the human population – not that people haven't tried it, or aren't trying it as we speak. By the time such research would bear fruit, the death toll will include all of Empire city, and if the quarantine breaks….

The Ray Sphere caused this, the activation of the Conduit aspect via Desmond's Grand Temple caused this. And in those two is the key to reversing the damage done. I have to visit the Temple again, and do a thorough study of how it functions and what exactly it did to our fair planet. Then I can figure out how the Ray Sphere reacted to it and perhaps then… I will have the key to curing the Plague before it has the chance of getting out of hand.

In the meantime I must trust Desmond to keep training Cole, and to keep him safe. Dare I trust him with such an important role? Do I have a choice?

I have seen their fights. Desmond is holding back less and less – he's making Cole bleed more and more. Neither of them is enjoying it, but it is making them work harder, making them _desperate_. While I regret having lost what bond I had with Desmond, and denying Cole from ever forging one at all… I do not regret the result. No.

They will make each other strong, whether they like it or not, and that is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are. The idea was to have a third part of this which would've been from Cole's perspective and would have resolved everything and involved Desmond and Cole working together and so on and so on... but I dunno if I will ever write it. I did have ending planned, and everything but. Yeah.
> 
> Gonna leave you with this for now. Thank you for reading and commenting.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be kind of a retelling of the start of Infamous 1 but with Desmond thrown in the mix. Only the first and last chapters will be epistolary, the chapters in between will be Desmond pov.
> 
> Other warning may apply.


End file.
